The Werewolf of Azkaban
by EirienFlower
Summary: Thirteen years ago, Remus Lupin was sentenced to life in Azkaban for the murder of Peter Pettigrew and thirteen Muggles.
1. Prologue

Title: Harry Potter and the Werewolf of Azkaban  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, settings or anything else from Harry Potter.   
  
Summary: Thirteen years ago, Remus Lupin was sentenced to life in Azkaban for the betrayal of the Potters and the murder of Peter Pettigrew and thirteen other Muggles.

* * *

"James and Lily, Remus! How could you?" The voice was shrill with anger. 

The street was crowded with Muggles, who noticed the disturbance and turned to watch the plump little man sobbing before a taller, calm-faced figure. Heads craned to see what would happen.  
  
"Why, Remus? Why did you betray them?"   
  
Remus Lupin stood very still and very calm, looking down at Peter Pettigrew. Slowly and carefully, he reached inside his jacket, feeling for the comfortable weight of his wand in the top pocket, close to his heart.  
  
And then everything seemed to happen all at once. The terrible confusion of angry light and roaring sound and afterwards the eerie calm.  
  
"It was...it was all so sudden," stammered a witness a little later on, when the Aurors had arrived on the scene. "It was the man - the tall man - he did something, said something and then it was...it was all bright and loud and...and..." she trailed off and covered her face with pale trembling fingers, trying to shut out the horrible images flickering through her mind: the flashing brightness, the tangled outstretched limbs, the blood, the smell of roasting, the tall man still as a statue and laughing softly. Laughing as if the carnage was amusing, as if it was all a big joke that nobody else had understood.   
  
The Aurors approached Remus Lupin carefully. His wand was still held loosely in his hand, and the quiet laughter was horrifying. Flecks of blood had spotted his face; he looked mad, maniacal. The remains of Peter Pettigrew were scattered at his feet, and Remus Lupin was watching them intently, and laughing that soft, obscene laugh. He laughed until the moment the Stupefys hit him, and then he toppled soundlessly to the gore-spattered ground and laughed no more.

* * *

The trial was quick, his guilt a certainty before it was even begun. All it required was the mention of Peter Pettigrew's finger in a box and the word 'werewolf'.  
  
Muggles testified against him. Dumbledore testified against him. Sirius Black testified against him with hard dark eyes fixed on his, full of hate and bitter betrayal. Remus Lupin sat perfectly calm and quiet and still while the prosecution ranted at length about dangerous half-breeds. There was no defence.  
  
The trial lasted two days, and then the sentence had to be decided on. All those in favour of the silver bullet? A sizeable portion of the jury raised their hands, was it more than half? Remus watched impassively. All those in favour of the Dementor's Kiss? Fewer hands were raised for this, much less than the half needed to pass the vote. All those in favour of life in Azkaban? Many hands were raised, there was a count, yes, and it was more than half. Remus allowed himself a small sigh. All those in favour of - a small laugh here - acquitting the defendant of all charges? No hands were raised. The courtroom was silent, a hundred pairs of acusing eyes fixed on Remus Lupin, who did not move or speak. Sentence passed! Life in Azkaban!  
  
The guards held Remus Lupin tightly as he was marched out of the courtroom. Remus twisted in their grip to look at Sirius, whose dark eyes burned him with the depth of their hate. Remus gave him a little defeated, apologetic smile, and mouthed the word: 'Wormtail'.

* * *

A/N Hopefully this will go on to tell the whole story, providing I don't get bored first. Reviews and especially constructive criticism are extremely welcome.


	2. Chapter One

Title: Harry Potter and the Werewolf of Azkaban  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, settings or anything else from Harry Potter.   
  
Warnings: AU  
  
Chapter One

* * *

_"...the public is warned that the escapee is armed and extremely dangerous. A special hotline has been set up, and any sightings should be reported immediately...."_  
  
Vernon Dursley snorted at the television. "No need to tell us he's good-for-nothing!" he bellowed, waving a spoon at the image of a skeletally thin figure, scar-faced and lank-haired. "Look at the state of him!"  
  
Harry ignored his uncle, knowing from experience his views on people who were less than immaculately turned out, and continued eating his cereal. Dudley glowered enviously at Harry over his already-empty bowl.  
  
"When's this godfather of yours coming for you?" Vernon asked, casting an eye at the clock on the wall as if counting the minutes until he could be rid of his nephew.  
  
"Twelve," Harry replied shortly. He, too, was looking forward to a gloriously Dursley-free week, and after that the new term started at Hogwarts, so he would not have to see them again until next July. He grinned to himself at the thought.  
  
"He's not bringing that blasted motorcycle again is he, boy? The neighbours talk, they all want to know who it is that makes so much damned noise riding that machine!"  
  
Harry shrugged, secretly hoping that Sirius would come roaring through the sleepy streets of Little Whingeing on the huge motorbike, revving the enormous engine and laughing. It was great fun to see every curtain in Privet Drive twitching as the nosy neighbours peered out at Harry's godfather in his leather jacket, shaking out his messy black hair. It was even more fun to see Mr Dursley's face turn that deep, angry shade of purple he reserved especially for Sirius.  
  
"When are you going to pick Marge up from the station, Vernon?" Aunt Petunia's thin, nasal voice broke through Harry's train of thought.  
  
"Her train arrives at one, so the boy'll be well away before she gets here."  
  
"Aunt Marge? She's coming?" Harry felt giddy with relief. Aunt Marge never missed an opportunity to snap at him, insult him, set her 'precious' pitbull terrier on him (_"Don't be silly, boy! Ripper wouldn't hurt a_ _fly!"_). Across the table, Dudley's eyes were bright and he was laughing softly to himself over the memory of Harry being chased across the garden and up into the tree by Ripper. He laughed softly, however, because he had never quite got over his terror of Harry's magical abilities, nor forgotten Sirius' threats that if he was ever caught bullying Harry again he would find himself in a world of trouble.  
  
"Yes," Vernon snapped," and I want you safely out of this house before she arrives. We don't want everyone knowing abut your abnormality."  
  
"Fine by me," Harry snapped back. He pushed his chair back and went upstairs to finish packing his trunk.

* * *

Ten to twelve. Harry sat in the spotless living room of the Dursley's house, watching the slow progression of the clock's hands. Every second was like an eternity.  
  
Vernon Dursley paced the length of the room, wearing his very best suit, as he always did for Sirius' visits, and slowly building up his facial colour. Aunt Petunia sat rigidly in an armchair, eyes searching the room for any errant speck of dust, not that it mattered, for Sirius was never invited into the house. Dudley was nowhere to be seen. He was hiding in his room and playing his most violent computer game in an effort to remind himself that he was a hard gang leader and definitely not afraid of scrawny younger cousins and their godfathers.  
  
Five to twelve. A heavy feeling of anticipation settled in Harry's stomach, as it always did on the days of Sirius' visits. Although Sirius had never been late or let him down so far, Harry never felt certain that he would arrive until the moment the doorbell rang.  
  
One minute to twelve. The second hand moved ponderously, each separate tick and tock echoingly loud. Uncle Vernon kept pacing, and had achieved a crimson hue. Aunt Petunia was stiff as a board, nostrils flared as though she were sniffing for Sirius.  
  
And then it was twelve, and Sirius wasn't there. Of course, it was ridiculous to expect him to be punctual to the very second, Harry thought, although the anticipation thickened into a leaden dread that gave him a vaguely nauseous sensation.  
  
Five past twelve. Ten past twelve. Twenty past twelve. Harry felt sick with despair. Uncle Vernon looked pointedly at his watch.  
  
"Well, well. Not bothered to turn up, has he? Can't say I'm surprised, myself. Scruffy layabout like that, probably lying drunk somewhere," he sneered at Harry, who couldn't work past the awful devastated feeling enough to get really angry.  
  
Aunt Petunia sniffed haughtily and got up to go into the kitchen, as if she had quite given up waiting.  
  
"Going to be stuck with you now until term starts, I suppose?" Uncle Vernon went on, "We'll have to get you to that train station, I expect? No consideration at all," he concluded.  
  
There was a strangled shriek from the kitchen, followed by a soft hooting that Harry immediately recognised as an owl's. Hope suddenly flaring, he raced into the kitchen and wrenched the letter from the owl, who ruffled her feathers and hooted reproachfully at him before flapping off out of the kitchen window. The handwriting on the note was Sirius', but scrawled and ink-blotted as if he had written hurriedly. It read:  
  
_Harry,  
  
I'm sorry, but something very important has just come up and I'm not going to be able to come and get you from the Dursley's this week. Chin up, and I'll meet you on Platform 9 ¾.   
  
Do not leave Privet Drive, and do not go out alone. I wish I could explain this to you better, but I'm in a mad rush and I've got to go. If you need me, send Hedwig to the Leaky Cauldron, and if the Dursleys cause trouble then tell them they'll have to deal with me next week.  
  
Be careful Harry. I'll see you soon,  
  
Sirius_  
  
Harry read the letter with a growing sense of confusion, and had to read it through again to make sure he hadn't missed anything.  
  
Uncle Vernon snatched the scrap of parchment and held it with distaste. His lips moved as he read.  
  
"Got himself into trouble, has he?" he snarled at his nephew when he had finished.  
  
"How should I know?" Harry snapped back, snatching the letter again.  
  
"Don't talk to me like that, boy!"  
  
"I won't talk to you at all, then!" Harry shouted. He knew he was being childish, but it was satisfying to shout and be angry instead of focusing on the heavy disappointment in the pit of his belly and blocking his throat and stinging behind his eyes. He pushed past Uncle Vernon and headed for the stairs, intending to lock himself into his room. Uncle Vernon caught his arm and held him back.  
  
"Marge is coming," he hissed, "and you'll be very polite to her and not mention that...that school, or anything to do with it. We've told her that you attend St. Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys."  
  
"St. what?!"  
  
"St. Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys!" Uncle Vernon roared. His face was painfully red.  
  
"Alright, alright. What if I forget?"  
  
"Do you want to try me, boy?"  
  
"Fine, I'll remember."  
  
"And you'll be very polite to her."  
  
"If she's polite to me."  
  
"And there'll be none of your funny business, do you hear me? None at all!"

* * *

"YOU BRING HER BACK!" Uncle Vernon shouted at Harry, who rounded on him and shouted back:  
  
"No! She deserved it!" He heaved his trunk out of the front door and away from number four, Privet Drive. Anger boiled inside him, and he felt a fierce rush of glee at the thought of fat Aunt Marge floating somewhere up above him.   
  
She'd had no right to say what she did, about his parents, about his mother, about him. Behind him, Uncle Vernon had slammed the door, obviously unwilling to cause a scene that the neighbours might overhear, and Harry didn't care. He was leavng Privet Drive, no matter what.  
  
It was a dark, clear night, the sky all rich velvet-black, scattered with twinkling pinpricks of cold starlight and adorned with a bright silvery moon only a few days away from fullness. Harry stormed along, unseeing and uncaring, driven along by anger and a nagging fear that told him how much he was going to be in trouble for doing whatever he had done to Aunt Marge. It hadn't been intentional, of course. It was just that she had kept on and on in that loud, vulgar voice saying those things that she had no right to say. Harry had stared at her fat face, reddened by brandy , and felt a loathing so powerful that it had to escape somehow. The next moment she was swelling and swelling and Uncle Vernon was shouting and Aunt Petunia was shrieking and Dudley was staring at him in undisguised terror and Harry had to get out of that house.  
  
Harry paused. It hadn't quite occured to him, in his angry rush to get away, that he didn't actually have anywhere to go. How far was Little Wingeing from London? Could he walk it? Could he find the Leaky Cauldron once he got there? There was a bus stop a little further ahead, he would go there and wait for a bus to London, and worry about finding his way later. Feeling suddenly tired and alone, he let his levitated trunk fall to the floor and sat on it.   
  
As he sat, a strange sensation came over him, like shivers tingling along the length of his spine. It felt like he was being watched. Cautiously, he turned around, reaching for his wand. Behind him was the old playground, very still and quiet. Too quiet? "  
  
"_Lumos_," Harry whispered,and searched for any small rustle, any tiny movement in the bushes nearby. Nobody was there, of course. It was nothing but Harry's imagination. "_Nox,_" he sighed, shoved his wand into his back pocket and resumed waiting.  
  
"Out rather late, aren't we?" asked a mild, pleasant voice.  
  
Harry started and looked around for the source of the unexpected voice. Standing next to him, leaning against the bus shelter, was a tall figure in a long coat, just out of the dim orange glow cast by the streetlight so that his features were hidden in shadow.   
  
"I suppose," said Harry warily. He couldn't quite make out the man's face, but he was sure he saw a smile spread over it.  
  
"Running away?" the stranger asked lightly, tapping Harry's trunk with a booted foot.  
  
"Maybe," Harry said, peering closely at the man. There was something about him that was vaguely familiar.   
  
"You'll want to be careful, out late at night, all alone, with an escaped murderer on the loose. They say he killed thirteen people."  
  
Harry stared, a creeping feeling of unease settling about him. There was something about the fall of the man's shoulder-length hair, something about the obvious thinness under the long coat, that Harry felt he should recognise.  
  
"Why are you out so late?" he countered, mouth dry and pulse racing.  
  
"I was...visiting someone. Yes..." said the man almost wistfully and trailed off, looking away from Harry as if lost in thought. Harry watched him. At last the stranger turned back. "Your bus is coming," he smiled. "I am sure we will see each other soon, Harry Potter."  
  
There was a bus coming, its headlights drenched the dark street in brilliance and Harry saw the face of the man clearly: a gaunt, haggard, starved looking face, crisscrossed with pale scar-lines, shadowed eyes gleaming and mouth stretched into a strange smile. Harry gasped, and heard Uncle Vernon's snort of _'No need to tell us he's good-for-nothing!_' in his mind, because this was the face of the escaped criminal, the murderer. The murderer gave Harry one last smile and a friendly wink, and disappeared into the shadows.  
  
The bus ground to a halt in front of him, and Harry was still gazing at the place where the murderer had disappeared.  
  
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this evening."¹  
  
Harry turned, and his jaw dropped. The bus was purple, and triple-deckered, and very obviously magical.   
  
"Er...er...how much would it be to get to London? The, er, Leaky Cauldron?" he stammered, feeling slightly in shock.  
  
"Eleven sickles," said the conductor, a pimply boy of no more than eighteen or nineteen. "You gettin' on, or what?"  
  
Harry followed Stan onto the bus and paid the eleven sickles for his ride and two extra for a mug of hot chocolate. He sat on a rickety bed alone, sipping the thin drink and wondering why the murderer had stood and talked to him. It only struck him much later, as the sky began to lighten, that he had called him _Harry Potter_.

* * *

A/N: ¹This speech is taken directly from the book. It is not mine, and I lay no claim to it whatsoever. 

Reviews and constructive criticism are, as always, extremely welcome.


	3. Chapter Two

Title: Harry Potter and the Werewolf of Azkaban  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, settings or anything else from Harry Potter.   
Warnings: AU  
  
Chapter Two  
  
"Leaky Cauldron? That's your stop, innit?"  
  
Harry looked up in surprise. He hadn't realised how long they had been travelling.   
  
"Yeah," he said.  
  
"Leaky Cauldron, Ern!" Stan called to the elderly driver, who nodded, squinting at the road through his thick glasses. The brakes slammed into action, propelling Harry from his bed to land in a painful heap at Stan's feet.  
  
"Come on then, we 'aven't got all day," the conductor said, grabbing Harry's trunk and heaving it down onto the pavement. Harry picked himself up and followed.  
  
The Leaky Cauldron looked very old and dirty in the sunlight, and Harry wondered for a moment whether he had made the right choice to come here. It occurred to him that maybe he was in trouble for what he had done to Aunt Marge. The Ministry had almost expelled him last year for using magic in Privet Drive, and it hadn't even been him doing it, so what would they do   
to him now?  
  
But before Harry could make up his mind to walk away, the door to the dingy little pub burst open and there was Sirius rushing towards him, and another figure in pinstriped robes close   
behind.  
  
"Thank Merlin!" Sirius breathed, one arm already slung around Harry's shoulders and pulling him close. "What did you think you were doing? Didn't you get my owl? I told you to stay with your Aunt and Uncle."  
  
"Never mind that now, Sirius," said the other man, who Harry now recognised as Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic. "Let's just be thankful that Harry is here safely. Come inside, Harry. Tom," he turned to a stoop-shouldered man who was watching from the doorway. "Take Harry's things upstairs, will you?"  
  
"Ern! Look! 'E's 'Arry Potter! Cor, I can see 'is scar an' all!" Stan Shunpike's excited voice came from the waiting Knight Bus, and Harry turned to see Stan pointing and Ernie squinting at him. He gave them a little smile and a goodbye wave, and followed the Minister into the pub. Sirius stayed behind a moment longer to shake Stan's hand gratefully and thank him for keeping Harry safe before following them.  
  
Fudge led Harry and Sirius up into a small private parlour, a dark and dusty chamber that was quite empty but for a table and a few chairs scattered about an unlit fire. Tom, having delivered Harry's luggage and returned, snapped his fingers and the fire instantly burst into bright dancing flames. Fudge motioned to the chairs.  
  
"Please, sit," he said, taking his own seat. Harry chose a chair close to the warmth of the fire and Sirius pulled his own protectively closer to Harry's. "Well, young man," Fudge began, eyes fixed on Harry but smiling quite kindly, "you have given us an adventure, haven't you?"  
  
"I didn't mean-" Harry began, but Fudge waved a hand dismissively.  
  
"Never mind that. Your Aunt has been dealt with and her memory modified. The Dursleys have been spoken to and they have agreed to take you back next summer, so there's no harm done."  
  
"I don't want to go back," said Harry quietly. He glanced at Sirius, and went on in a pleading tone, "Couldn't I come live with you? The Dursleys don't want me there."  
  
Sirius grimaced. He would have liked nothing better, and each time Harry asked it was harder to say no. "I'm sorry Harry," he sighed. "You know I'd love to have you live with me, but you need the protection of your Aunt's blood. She is your mother's sister. Although you'd never think it," he finished in a sneer.   
  
Harry nodded; he understood. He stared at the joyfully flickering fire.  
  
"Anyway," Fudge went on, breaking the slightly awkward silence. "Since you are here, and I think it would be wise to give the Dursleys some time to cool off, I see no reason why you shouldn't stay here with Sirius until the new Hogwarts term starts."   
  
Harry looked up, all disappointment gone. So he would have his Dursley-free week after all! A whole week with Sirius in Diagon Alley! He grinned thankfully at Fudge, and then at Sirius.   
  
Fudge smiled, then sighed and got up.  
  
"I'm afraid I'll have to be leaving now. Very busy at the Ministry these days, what with...yes, well." He shook Sirius' hand, then leaned close and murmured something that Harry thought was, "Keep him safe, Sirius." Sirius nodded grimly in answer. Fudge turned to Harry and shook his hand too. "Keep this godfather of yours out of trouble, Harry," he said jokingly, "and no more running away in the middle of the night. I expect you're tired. Tom will show you to your chambers." He left the room, Sirius and Harry trailing behind  
  
A few people were seated at tables or at the bar, and none of them looked up when Harry Potter, Sirius Black and the Minister for Magic walked in. Harry looked around and saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He twisted to look for it, yes, that was it: a poster pinned to a wall, and now that he was looking properly he saw that they were pinned to almost every wall. WANTED! the poster read, in large bold letters, REMUS LUPIN. EXTREMELY DANGEROUS HALF-BREED. DO NOT APPROACH! and beneath that a picture of a man; a scar-faced, painfully thin man, who was looking around interestedly. His hair was lank and reached to his shoulders, his eyes were shadowed but bright and sharp. Harry recognised that face immediately: the murderer!  
  
"I saw him!" Harry burst out. Fudge halted, regarding Harry with a puzzled expression.  
  
"Saw who?"  
  
"Him," Harry pointed to the poster, which smiled the same calm, peaceable smile the murderer had given Harry at the bus stop only a few hours before.  
  
"Yes, he's been on the Muggle news as well. Terrible business."  
  
"No, I mean I actually saw him. At the bus stop in Little Whingeing, just before the Knight Bus came. He was talking to me."   
  
Sirius gripped Harry's shoulder tightly. Fudge spluttered incoherently.  
  
"Merlin's beard...to think...my goodness...if the Bus..." he trailed off, apparently too shocked to speak.  
  
"So he's a wizard?" Harry asked.  
  
"What? Oh, yes. Yes, he is a wizard. Sirius, you'll explain, won't you? I... really...this puts a new perspective on things...really very urgent...must go..." Fudge stammered, and the next moment he was sweeping out of the pub in a flurry of pinstriped robes.  
  
Harry looked up expectantly at Sirius, whose gaze was fixed on the pleasantly smiling face of the murderer with a strange expression on his face. If Harry had been asked to describe it, he would have said that he couldn't put a name to it, it was too complicated: there was hate in it, and anger, and a strange kind of pain, and bitterness, and, strangest of all, sorrow.  
  
"Sirius?" he said, uneasily. Sirius blinked, seemed to shake himself slightly, and looked down at Harry.  
  
"Come on," he said, with a strained smile. "Let's go up to your room."

* * *

"Why was Fudge so worried about me?" asked Harry a little later, after Sirius had made him eat some food and given him a warm drink and they were both settled comfortably in Harry's room.  
  
Sirius paused. "It's this Lupin business," he said at last. "Big scandal. Everyone wants to know how he got out of Azkaban. Fudge is in trouble if he can't come up with a way to reassure people."  
  
"What did he do? Lupin, I mean."  
  
Sirius' eyes were strangely bright. "He was a Death Eater. Big-time supporter of Voldemort, one of his biggest. Killed thirteen people with one curse."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"'Cos he was a maniac, Harry. Is a maniac."  
  
Harry sipped his hot chocolate, which was much thicker and richer than the stuff Stan had given him on the Knight Bus.  
  
"Why did the poster say 'half-breed'?"  
  
"Lupin's a Dark Creature. A werewolf, actually. Which makes him doubly dangerous and doubly a headache for Fudge."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because he's got all the bleeding hearts equal rights people breathing down his neck." Sirius' voice was tinged with bitterness. "They can't kill him straight off, otherwise there'd be another scandal. Same as when they caught him first time around. Most sane wizards were all for carting him straight off to Azkaban, but these people said no, you can't do that, and so he had to be given a fair trial. Didn't matter, anyway. They knew he was guilty. A whole street full of witnesses." Sirius looked at Harry. "Anyway, it doesn't matter now. They'll catch him soon enough. Can't hide a werewolf. Drink up and into bed, you've had a long night."

* * *

It was a golden week. Sirius showed Harry all the secrets of Diagon Alley; the little side streets that led off into fantastical shops crowded with the weird and wonderful. Sirius showed him the places that he and Harry's father had loved to visit when they had come here together on their shopping expeditions, after Sirius had run away from home. They made little longing noises together at the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies after seeing the brand new Firebolt. Every day they ate at Florean Fortescues's Ice Cream Parlour, attended by Florean himself, who often refilled their dishes free of charge.  
  
There they sat on the last-but-one day of Harry's holiday. Ron and Hermione were arriving the next day, and the day after that would take them back to Hogwarts and a new term. Harry felt excited about being back in the familiar castle, but there was also a part of him that would have been happy to sit outside in the sunshine every day, with Sirius telling him old stories.   
  
Sirius was silently toying with his spoon, swirling the ice-cream around his dish without paying much attention to it. Harry watched him expectantly, recognising that his godfather wanted to tell him something and was working up the courage.  
  
Sirius took a deep breath. "Harry," he said at last, "I need to tell you something. Fudge doesn't want me to tell you, and neither does Molly Weasley, but I think you need to know." He stirred his ice-cream a little more while Harry waited. "Remus Lupin broke out of Azkaban to come after you."  
  
Harry blinked. "Me?"  
  
"Yes. Don't worry, Harry. There's no way he'll get to you. Not with Dumbledore and the Ministry and me looking out for you."  
  
"I'm not scared," said Harry stubbornly. Sirius beamed at him.  
  
"Good lad," he grinned. "I knew you were made of stouter stuff than they think."  
  
Harry smiled at Sirius' approval, but he was still puzzled. "Why me?"  
  
"Like I told you, Harry, he's mental. He probably thinks that getting to you'll bring back his old mate You-Know-Who." Sirius always used Voldemort's name, except in public where people were still raw and frightened of it.  
  
Harry nodded and decided not to push the subject, since it obviously made Sirius uneasy. But he still wasn't happy. There had been plenty of opportunity for Lupin to kill Harry at the bus stop. The street had been dark and deserted, nobody would have seen or heard him murdered, nobody would have known. Sirius' explanation didn't satisfy him because, despite his alarming appearance, Lupin hadn't seemed mad or dangerous. His smile had been an honest, open smile, his voice had been pleasant and mild, and his eyes had been calm and clear. And yet there were the thirteen dead Muggles and the street full of witnesses.   
  
"What's Azkaban like, Sirius?" Harry asked impulsively.   
  
"What on earth d'you want to know that for?" Sirius laughed. Harry shrugged.  
  
"Just wondering," he said.  
  
Sirius, now solemn, stirred his melted ice-cream, lifting up spoonfuls and letting the thick, creamy half-liquid trickle back into the dish. "Azkaban. Azkaban. Well, Harry, if ever there was anything to make a wizard stay on the straight and narrow, Azkaban's the thing. It's a horrible place. Just this grey prison building out on an island. Awful. Prisoners go mad there. The guards - you'll be seeing them this year, Fudge has sent them to guard Hogwarts - the guards are Dementors. Have you ever heard of them?" Harry shook his head. Sirius shivered, and went on, "Dementors are terrible things, horrible. They...they suck all the happiness out of a person, make you feel like you'll never be happy again. They make you cold...freezing...and all you can think of are all the awful things you did, until there's...there's nothing but darkness and all the bad things...it's not pleasant, Harry. Not at all."  
  
"Have you ever been to Azkaban?"  
  
"Me? Not as an inmate, but as a visitor once or twice. It was awful...all the prisoners screaming and wailing and the Dementors just gliding around and feeding off it. I don't want to go back there." Sirius shook his head as if to emphasise his point. The golden sunshine seemed suddenly too bright for talk of desolate prisons and madness, the chatter of the wizards around them seemed over-cheerful and out of place, like canned laughter on the television shows Dudley always watched.  
  
Sirius gazed solemnly at the tabletop for a few moments, not really seeing the table at all, Harry suspected, before he shook himself out of his reverie and grinned at his godson. Sirius' grin was infectious, wide and boyish and mischievous, and Harry always found himself grinning back.   
  
"Anyway," Sirius said brightly, "it's our last day together, so let's go and make the most of it, shall we?"

* * *

Ron and Hermione arrived the next day, Ron more freckled than ever and bursting to tell Harry about his family's holiday to Egypt, Hermione very tanned and bursting to get back to school.   
  
They spent their last day of freedom wandering around Diagon Alley, buying Ron and Hermione's books and school supplies, and then enjoying Florean's best ice-cream, although Ron was annoyed at Hermione for her new pet's attempts to eat Scabbers, who was looking distinctly under-the-weather after the trip to Egypt.  
  
"Crookshanks can't help it, Ron. All cats chase rats." Hermione tried to reason, cuddling the bandy-legged, mangy-furred ginger cat as if it were the sweetest kitten. Crookshanks yowled menacingly at the trembling Scabbers.  
  
"Yeah, well, Scabbers is ill, isn't he? The last thing he needs is that great monster after him."  
  
Harry sat back and enjoyed watching the two of them argue. He really had missed them over the summer holidays, even though they had sent him letters and birthday-presents, and it was wonderful to have them here with him again.  
  
The atmosphere was festive that night in the Leaky Cauldron, with the Weasleys, Sirius, Harry, and Hermione all eating together as a sort of farewell feast for everyone who was heading off back to Hogwarts the following day. The only person who didn't seem to be enjoying himself was Percy, whose shiny new Head Boy badge had gone missing earlier that day and returned bearing the slightly less important-looking message: 'Bighead Boy'. Fred and George flatly denied having anything to do with it, but Percy continued to shoot them angry glares and spent the evening morosely prodding the badge, trying to get the message to change back.  
  
"He'll have his work cut out for him," George confided in Harry. "That's a Semi-Permanent Changing Charm."  
  
"Scabbers!" Ron cried, reaching for the rat as Crookshanks barrelled after him. Scabbers fled, squealing.  
  
"Alright Ron, I've got him," Sirius chuckled, grabbing Scabbers and nudging Crookshanks out of the way. The rat writhed and twisted in his grasp, desperate to be free. "In a bit of a state, isn't he? All his fur's coming out, his ear's torn, toe missing, I - OW!" Scabbers buried his sharp little teeth firmly in Sirius' finger. "Ow! Ow! Ow! Ron, take your demon rat back! Don't you laugh, Harry, or I'll set him on you, the vicious little devil. OW!"  
  
Ron, trying to suppress his giggles, prised Scabbers off Sirius and tucked the rat into his pocket. "That's your fault, Hermione! Honestly, can't you keep that animal locked up or something?"  
  
"Really, Ron, you can't expect me to keep poor Crookshanks in a cage. He need to be free."  
  
"I'll free him," Ron muttered darkly to Harry. "I'll set him free right where him and Fang can play together nicely."  
  
Harry thoroughly enjoyed the noise and laughter of the meal, and was sorry when Mrs Weasley decided that it was getting late and wasn't it time for them all to be off to bed? Sirius tried to argue for just a little while longer but Mrs Weasley pursed her lips and even Sirius knew to give in.

* * *

In the morning, Ministry cars turned up to ferry the Weasleys, Sirius, Harry and Hermione to the train station. Mr Weasley wouldn't say why, but Harry suspected that it was to do with him and the fact that Lupin was still on the loose, although the Daily Prophet had been promising that the Ministry was closing in on him and of course they would have him very soon. Sirius shook his head over these claims and knew that the Ministry was no closer to finding Lupin than ever, but he didn't share these views with Harry for fear of worrying or frightening him.  
  
Platform 9¾ was packed with parents and students. Mrs Weasley hugged all her children, then Harry and Hermione. Harry waited until they had moved off to the Hogwarts Express before saying goodbye to Sirius.   
  
"I, er, suppose you're too old for a hug now, eh?" said Sirius, half-jokingly, half-wistfully. Harry shook his head, all self-consciousness forgotten, and hugged his godfather, his only link to his parents apart from a few tattered old photographs, tightly. Sirius held him close. "You take care now, alright? Don't get into trouble, and for Merlin's sake, and mine, don't go looking for Lupin."  
  
Harry nodded, unsure as to why Sirius would think he would go looking for a man who wanted to kill him, but unwilling to waste time by asking questions. Well, apart from one...  
  
"Sirius," he began when they had parted, pulling out the form that had arrived with his Hogwarts letter. "Could you sign this for me? It's for Hogsmeade visits, only the Dursleys didn't sign it, and it needs to be signed by a guardian and you are my godfather. Please?"  
  
Sirius took the form and read it with a pained expression. "The thing is, I'm not really your guardian."  
  
"But I'm sure it'd be fine with Dumbledore."  
  
"To be honest, Harry, I'm not sure that I'm keen on having you wandering around Hogsmeade while Lupin is still out." Harry looked at his godfather, disappointed. Sirius sighed. "Tell you what, leave this with me and if the situation with Lupin changes, I'll owl it to you. Okay?"  
  
"Okay," Harry said, seeing that this was the best offer he was going to get. Sirius draped an arm across his shoulders as they made their way towards the Hogwarts Express, which was getting ready to leave.  
  
"Write to me often, okay Harry?" he pleaded. "And I'll see about you coming to mine for Christmas, too. Stay safe, and remember what I said: don't go looking for Lupin. Promise me, Harry?"  
  
"Promise," Harry agreed, giving his godfather one more hurried hug before boarding the train.  
  
Harry found the compartment that Hermione and Ron had claimed quickly, and slid into the seat nearest the window He ignored his friends, who were already arguing spiritedly over whether Crookshanks should be allowed out of his basket, and strained to see Sirius. There he was, standing a little way off from the Weasleys, smiling at Harry. As the train began to huff and puff its way along the track, he began to wave. Harry waved back, craning his neck to be able to see until Sirius was just a featureless smudge of black hair, and then the train swung lazily around a corner and he was gone.

* * *

A/N This chapter was hellish to write, because there was so much that Harry needed to be told about and therefore it needed to be close to the books while different enough so that I wasn't just copying, and I'm not sure that it worked. Feedback is very welcome, especially constructive criticism.  
Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed this story. I really didn't expect to get any kind of feedback! Dark and prone to violence, you can imagine Remus any way you want. Thewlis isn't exactly my picture of Remus either. I hope everybody else who had questions has had them answered by this chapter. I did try! 


	4. Chapter Three

Title: Harry Potter and the Werewolf of Azkaban  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, settings or anything else from Harry Potter.   
Warnings: AU  
  
Chapter Three  
  
"Well, well, well." Draco leaned into the compartment, shadowed as always by the heavy figures of Crabbe and Goyle. "Potty, Weaselby, the Mudblood and...what is _that_?" Draco curled his lip in distaste at the sight of Crookshanks prowling menacingly around the compartment.  
  
"It's a cat, Malfoy, are you blind as well as stupid?" Harry snapped.   
  
"You call that ragged bag of fleas a cat? Was that all you could afford, Weasley? Spent all that gold already, have you?" Draco sneered. Ron's ears burned red.  
  
"_Actually_, Crookshanks is mine, and he doesn't much like the smell of you by the look of it, Malfoy," Hermione retorted. She was right; Crookshanks was hissing and spitting, back arched, tail swishing from side to side like a cobra poised to strike.  
  
"Oh, save me, save me!" Draco squealed in mock-terror, striking a dramatic pose with one hand to his forehead like a damsel in distress. Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle chuckled darkly. "That mad thing couldn't scram its way out of a paper bag, and if anything smells in here it's the stench of your dirty blood!"  
  
Ron and Harry leapt to their feet at the same moment, wands ready and aimed at Malfoy, who had drawn his own, flanked by the towering Crabbe and Goyle. As the tension reached boiling point, Crookshanks chose his moment, and pounced.  
  
"Ow! _OW_! Owowowowowow! Hermione, gerrim off me!" Ron bellowed, fighting with Crookshanks while trying to hold Scabbers out of the reach of the cat's sharp teeth and claws. In the doorway, Draco and his henchmen were doubled up with laughter.  
  
Hermione wrenched Crookshanks off Ron and held the struggling animal tightly. "Hush, Crookshanks, settle down," she crooned, while the cat hissed and spat and reached with razor-sharp claws for Ron.  
  
"That bloody animal!" Ron roared over Draco's laughter. "I'll hex him into next week, but not before I hex you -" He whirled and aimed again at Draco, ready to fling every curse he knew at the Slytherin bully. His mouth opened to form the curses, and then the breath went out of him.   
  
The train was growing dark and cold; a creeping cold that settled in every students chest, that worked its way into the bones and chilled the blood. Harry felt a sinking feeling, like falling from a great height, the compartment was swimming in and out of focus as if wreathed in icy mist. Ron shivered convulsively; Hermione clutched Crookshanks to her like a lifeline; Draco's sneering face was twisted into a rictus of terror; Crabbe and Goyle whimpered softly, Harry heard the sound as if from far, far away.  
  
"What's happening?" he tried to say, but the words were slurred and froze on his lips. Draco pointed in mute horror to the opposite door, and Harry turned to see a terrible figure in tattered black robes, a hand like a dead thing that reached for him, specifically for _him_, icy-cold and a whispering breath like a death-rattle before the compartment slipped out of focus entirely.  
  
_A screaming in his ears - far off voices - screaming - screaming - flash of light - green light - no more screaming - silence - and_  
  
"Harry? _Harry_?" Hermione's voice was anxious and low.  
  
"Harry? Come on, wake up, mate," Ron, too.  
  
Harry struggled out of the icy darkness and blinked at the light. The world was still out of focus, but this was because his glasses were missing.  
  
"What-" he began, before being cut off by Madame Pomfrey.  
  
"Now, young man, you just lie there, don't get up! Don't move! Honestly, bringing Dementors into a school, it's a wonder these children survive at all; quidditch and basilisks and goodness-knows-what...." she trailed off into a low tirade against the dangers of the school. Harry lay still for a moment, then reached out for his glasses.  
  
"Here," Ron passed them to Harry, who muttered his thanks before donning them. He glanced around, and found himself in the hospital wing. The place was becoming quite familiar, he thought drily.  
  
"Here, eat this," Madame Pomfrey said, pushing a huge chunk of chocolate into Harry's hands.  
  
"Why? What happened?" Harry was surprised at how small his voice was.  
  
"It was a Dementor," Madame Pomfrey said, still bustling around, and Harry saw that there were other people in beds around the infirmary, all looking very pale and weak. "One of the Azkaban guards, and what the Minister thinks by sending them here I'm sure I shall never know. Eat that chocolate!"  
  
Harry obediantly began eating his way through the huge slab of chocolate, and waited until she had moved off before asking Ron and Hermione for the full story.  
  
The Dementors had moved along the train as if they were looking for something. One had broken off from the rest, had entered Harry's compartment, had reached out as if to touch him. Harry had fainted, and the Dementor had leaned close over him. Then, from nowhere it seemed, Dumbledore and McGonagall burst onto the train and cast spells at the Dementors; huge silver shapes that drove the Dementors away. Then they had magicked up stretchers and carried Harry and the worst affected students up to the infirmary.  
  
"Did...did anyone else hear...screaming?" Harry asked tentatively, hoping the answer would be 'yes' but expecting a 'no'.  
  
Hermione and Ron exchanged glances before shaking their heads. Harry nodded, and leaned back weakly. The chocolate was working, warmth was spreading slowly through his death-cold limbs and alleviating some of the heavy dread in his chest, but all the strength seemed to have gone out of him.   
  
"Com on now, out you go!" Madame Pomfrey ordered, steering Ron, Hermione and the other visitors in the infirmary in the direction of the door. "They need _rest_, and the feast is beginning shortly so_ out_, please." Ron and Hermione waved apologetically at Harry and left. Harry lay still in his bed and finished his chocolate before gently drifting into blissfully dreamless sleep.

* * *

When Harry woke next morning, he found that his drained strength had returned, and Madame Pomfrey reluctantly allowed him to leave the infirmary and go down to the Great Hall for breakfast. The Hall was crowded and noisy with the chatter of students. He could see Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table, waving at him, and he began to make his way over to them.  
  
"Hey, Potter!"  
  
Harry grimaced at the sound of Draco's mocking voice and considered ignoring it for a moment before deciding that whatever lies were being spread about him, it might be better to know about them.  
  
"What do you want, Malfoy?"  
  
"Is it true that you _fainted_?"  
  
Harry coloured angrily, but couldn't deny it. "Yeah," he said, and the Slytherin table burst into laughter. "Mind you, I don't seem to remember you being so heroic. In fact, wasn't it you they found curled in a ball, crying for your Mummy?"  
  
The sneer on Draco's little pointed face morphed instantly into a frown. "You can't prove anything, Potter."  
  
"Can't I? Why don't you ask Crabbe or Goyle. Oh wait, you can't, because they were too busy wetting themselves with fright."  
  
Crabbe and Goyle rose at the same moment, wands drawn, cheeks flushed with anger. Harry drew his own wand, curses spiking in his throat, before:  
  
"What is going on here?" The unpleasant drawl of, who else, Harry's Potion's Master, Severus Snape. Harry turned to see him surveying the scene with a look of barely-concealed triumph in his eyes. "Fighting in the Great Hall? Well, well, well, and only the second day. I hope we are not beginning as we mean to go on, Mr Potter. However, I think a night's detention and ten points from Gryffindor will teach you a lesson."  
  
"But Malfoy, sir-"  
  
"Do not argue with me, Potter. Report to my office, Friday night, seven o'clock /sharp/. Now get to your table." Harry needed no further prompting and stormed off, burning with rage at the blatant unfairness of it.  
  
"What was that all about?" Ron asked as Harry slumped onto the bench and began furiously buttering a slice of toast.  
  
"That was Malfoy being Malfoy, and Snape being Snape, and me getting detention." Harry growled, sending a look of utter loathing towards the Slytherin table, where Malfoy and his entourage were laughing amongst themselves.  
  
"He gave you _detention_? What for?" asked Hermione, incredulously. Harry told them.  
  
"That _git_!" Ron said, glaring at Snape, who was seated at the teachers' table with Hagrid to his left and a small, plain-looking witch Harry didn't recognise to his right.  
  
"Hang on," Harry said, frowning. "What's Hagrid doing up there with the teachers?"  
  
"Don't you -" Hermione began, and then, "oh, of course, you weren't here last night. The old Care of Magical Creatures teacher retired, and Hagrid's been given the job!"  
  
"Wicked!" Harry smiled broadly and waved at Hagrid, who was beaming with pride. "When's our first lesson with him?"  
  
"Here's your timetable," Hermione passed him a slip of parchment on which she had copied out his classes, then consulted her own. "Looks like right after lunch, yes. Divination first, though, and that's right at the top of the North Tower, so we'll have to hurry. Then Muggle Studies, and Arithmancy, then -"  
  
"Hang on, Hermione, let me see that," Ron said, pulling Hermione's timetable out of her hands and comparing it to his own. "Something's gone wrong here. Look, all your lessons are at the same time. How are you going to be in three places at once?"  
  
"Come on, we'd better get to Divination, hadn't we?" Hermione said, deftly avoiding Ron's question.  
  
"Who's that?" Harry pointed at the witch sitting to the right of Snape.  
  
"Professor Fell, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. We haven't got her until Friday. Come _on_, we're going to be late!"  
  
"Heaven forbid that Hermione Granger should ever be late for a class." Ron muttered to Harry, who attempted to smother his smile before following Hermmione.

* * *

_Sirius,  
_  
Harry tapped his quill on the parchment, uncertain as to what he should write. His return to Hogwarts certainly had been...interesting.  
  
_There are Dementors everywhere, all around the castle, although Dumbledore won't let them come onto school grounds, which is just as well since I seem to be the only person who reacts to them by fainting and the last thing I need is to faint every time I walk past one. Can you imagine Malfoy and the Slytherins?   
  
I've got detention with Snape already, and it wasn't my fault. He said I was starting a fight in the Great Hall, which is completely unfair since it was Malfoy who started it. Crabbe and Goyle both threatened me, but they've only got lines. Fortunately, we haven't had Potions yet (That's tomorrow, right after DADA).  
  
Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class was brilliant. He started off with Unicorns, and said that he wanted to do Hippogriffs, but dangerous creatures like that need 'too much paperwork'.  
  
Everyone's talking about Lupin here. Everyone is obsessed with werewolves, and Hermione says that all the books about Dark Creatures have been taken out of the library - like last year, with the Chamber of Secrets - and she's fuming, because, well, you know Hermione and research. You'd think she'd be glad that she couldn't do any extra work what with all the /school/- work she's got. Ron and I can't work out how she's getting to all her classes, since her timetable is all doubled-up. Her Divination, Muggle Studies and Arithmancy lessons are at the same time, but she's getting to all three of them. /How?/  
  
Speaking of Divination, Professor Trelawney says that I have a deadly enemy, that I should be wary of the moon, that my lifeline is disturbingly short, that she fails to See any kind of future for me (apart from the previously-mentioned) and that I have the Grim, whatever that is, but Professor McGonagall says that Professor Trelawney predicts the death of a student in each of her classes and nobody has died yet, so I can't use it as an excuse for not doing her homework.   
  
So, is there any chance of me getting permission for Hogsmeade? The first weekend is coming up in October and everyone is really excited abut going. It's supposed to be brilliant, and Lupin wouldn't dare come this close to Hogwarts, would he?   
  
Write back soon,  
  
Harry.  
_  
Harry read the letter through again and decided that it would do. He folded it carefully, sealed it, and set off to the Owlery. Hedwig was dozing on her perch, but soon woke up with the offering of an owl treat.  
  
"To Sirius, okay? _Sirius_." Harry told her, stroking the glossy snow-white feathers. Sirius had bought Hedwig for him as a birthday present, on that day in Diagon Alley when his whole world had been tipped upside down. Harry remembered the first time Sirius had turned up at Number Four, Privet Drive, on the enormous motorbike, holding Harry's Hogwarts letter and with Hagrid in tow. Sirius had shouted at the Dursleys, threatened Dudley, had been generally terrifying, but Harry couldn't help but like him instantly. There had been something comfortingly familiar about Sirius, and Harry had trusted him. Sirius had taken him away from the Dursleys, to Diagon Alley - Harry vividly remembered the blissful shock of discovering that he was /famous/, rather than just a scrawny, messy nuisance.  
  
Hedwig gave Harry a little affectionate peck before spreading her wings and flapping off out of the window. Harry watched her until she was a glittering speck on the horizon, then turned away.  
  
It was a clear autumn day, with just the slightest hint of chill in the air. The Forbidden Forest, even in the bright sunshine, was dark and, well, forbidding, as if even the light feared to enter it. Harry had been in there twice before, once in first year, for detention, once in second year, when he and Ron had met the giant spider, Aragog. Malfoy had said that werewolves lived in the Forest, but Malfoy was an idiot and a coward, who had turned tail and fled at the slightest rustle of leaves, and besides, the full moon was gone. So there was absolutely no reason for Harry to feel apprehensive at the sight of the dark, watchful trees, or feel the tingling sensation that something was watching him. _Somebody_, his mind insisted, _Lupin_, and that was ridiculous. Nobody could survive in the Forbidden Forest alone, except Hagrid, but Hagrid was more than capable of dealing with any monster that the Forest threw at him.   
  
Harry shook off the feeling and made his way slowly up to Gryffindor Tower, where a sizeable pile of homework awaited him.  
  
"Harry!" Hermione cried as he clambered through the portrait hole. "Look at this!" She thrust her copy of The Daily Prophet at him. Harry blinked in surprise, took it, and began to read.  
  
_WEREWOLF SIGHTINGS IN HOGSMEADE!  
  
Many residents of the village of Hogsmeade have reported sighting a beast which they believe to be a rogue werewolf. "It was much bigger than a normal dog," says Maude Fletcher, who has lived in the village all her life, "and we don't get wolves round here no more, so it must be a werewolf, mustn't it?"  
  
The Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, had this to say: "All registered werewolves were accounted for and spent the full moon in their designated Ministry holding-areas. It really must have been a very large wild dog."  
  
When asked about the possibility that the alleged werewolf was none other than escaped convict Remus Lupin, the Minister agreed that this was a possibility, warning residents of the village to remain on their guard and not to venture out of doors on full moon nights..._  
  
"Well that's torn it. That's really torn it." Harry crumpled the Prophet and tossed it into the fireplace of the Gryffindor common room before sinking miserably into an overstuffed chair. "Sirius'll never sign that Hogsmeade form now!"  
  
"You know, I did actually pay for that paper, Harry, and I hadn't read it yet," Hermione said, rather reproachfully.  
  
"It's a load of rubbish," Harry told her. "If they honestly believe that Lupin would come this close to Hogwarts, they're as mad as he is."  
  
"There's a werewolf in Hogwarts?"  
  
"No, some people from Hogsmeade claim to have seen one, but Fudge says it couldn't have been a registered one and that it must be Lupin, as if there was nothing in the world that the Ministry doesn't know about!"  
  
Hermione stared at him levelly. "You know, I really haven't got the faintest idea what you're on about. I wish you hadn't wrecked my Prophet. Oh, I know!" She plucked the charred remains of her paper from the fireplace and with a muttered "_Reparo_!" the blackened scraps quickly transformed themselves into a full and complete paper, which she set about reading.  
  
"But wouldn't the Dementors sense Lupin if he was nearby?" Ron asked.  
  
Harry shrugged. "I don't know."  
  
"Actually," Hermione said, still reading the paper. "Dementors are only a danger to humans. I read about them when we got here, after that incident on the train."  
  
"Dementors, werewolves, a zillion classes. Honestly, Hermione, _where do you get the time?_" Ron asked.  
  
"Don't be silly," Hermione replied absent-mindedly, as she was still immersed in the Prophet's article.  
  
Ron looked at Harry, who shrugged.  
  
"How -"he began.  
  
"Oh, never mind what I do!" Hermione snapped, tossing the paper onto a nearby table."Does it really matter? I think we have more important things to worry about right now. I don't agree with Harry. I think that it's got to be Lupin. The Ministry must have tracking spells on all werewolves, and ways of finding out if new werewolves are made. I mean, there aren't many dogs as big as wolves, are there? And there really aren't any wolves left in Britain, they're all extinct. And even if it was a wolf, anybody should be able to tell a werewolf from a normal wolf, right?"  
  
Harry and Ron looked blankly back at her. She rolled her eyes. "You really don't know the differences between wolves and werewolves? The snout, the tail?" They continued to stare. She sighed. "You'll have to learn them, especially you, Harry, since Lupin's after you."  
  
"How do you know all this stuff?" Ron stared at Hermione.  
  
"I read, Ron. You might try it, maybe you'd learn something."  
  
"Alright, alright, don't start," Harry interrupted, sensing the onset of yet another argument. "So, Lupin's supposed to be after me, right? So he's supposed to be in Hogsmeade? How is he planning on getting into Hogwarts? He'll have changed back by now, so shouldn't the Dementors have sensed him?"  
  
"There must be a way into the castle. A secret passageway or something." Hermione mused, setting the paper down.  
  
"What, no maps in the library?" Ron deadpanned.  
  
Hermione glared at him. "Yes, Ron, mapmakers put _secret passageways_ on their maps."  
  
"Will you two just _stop_ it?" Harry said, exasperated. "Can we please think about the problem at hand? Namely that there is a mad werewolf out there who wants to kill me!"  
  
"You'll just have to be really careful, won't you? Don't go anywhere alone. Don't go out at night. By the way, where were you just now?"  
  
"At the Owlery, sending a letter to Sirius," Harry replied. He glanced one last time at the Prophet. "He's never going to sign that permission form now!"  
  
"Couldn't you just take the Cloak and sneak out?" Ron asked, causing Hermione to say:  
  
"Ron!" in a very McGonagall-esque tone. "Haven't you been listening? Harry's got a werewolf after him, and besides, the Dementors are surrounding the castle, and Dumbledore said that they wouldn't be fooled by an Invisibility Cloak."  
  
"It's alright. I'll just stay here, all alone, while you and the rest of the year go and have a great time in Hogsmeade. Don't worry about me," Harry whined, making pathetic eyes at Hermione, whose stern expression softened somewhat.  
  
"You really can't sneak out, Harry. It's too dangerous," she said apologetically. "But we'll bring you loads of things back, won't we, Ron?"  
  
"Course we will, mate," Ron grinned. "Loads of Honeydukes' chocolate and Zonko's jokes and stuff."  
  
"Great," Harry mumbled.

* * *

A/N: Once again, thanks for all the feedback I received for the previous chapter. If you liked this chapter, please review. If you didn't like it, please review.  



	5. Chapter Four

Title: Harry Potter and the Werewolf of Azkaban

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, settings or anything else from Harry Potter.

Warnings: AU  
  
Chapter Four

Professor Fell was a plain woman, of average height and average build, with a pleasant but not remarkable voice and a cheerful manner.  
  
"Good morning, class," Professor Fell smiled at them, as the Gryffindors filed in. Harry took his usual seat between Ron and Hermione - it was becoming more and more necessary to seperate them now, as they bickered and sniped at each other almost constantly - and took out his DADA textbook.  
  
"Right," Professor Fell said, business-like and brisk, "Your education in Defence has been, shall we say, patchy at best. So this year, we were supposed to start on the easier stuff - Hinkypunks, Kappas, Boggarts - but given the, er, circumstances, Dumbledore believes that you should be given a thorough grounding in -" She turned and pointed her wand at a large projector screen, on which appeared several huge, slavering images of "- werewolves."  
  
Several people in the class gasped, and Harry heard Lavender Brown give a little stifled scream. Next to him, Hermione dug her elbow into his ribs and leaned forward slightly: _pay_ _attention_.  
  
"Turn to page three-hundred and ninety-four then, class," Professor Fell said, apparantly unconcerned at the stir she had caused."Now, who can tell me some of the signs that identify a werewolf?"  
  
Hermione's hand shot up, waving frantically in the air. A few others tentatively put up their hands, and Professor Fell very fairly made sure that everyone had their say.  
  
"The tufted tail, professor."  
  
"The shape of the snout."  
  
"The pupils of the eyes."  
  
"Excellent," Professor Fell smiled, "But can anybody tell me how you recognise a werewolf in its human form?" The class was silent. Professor Fell waved her wand again at the projector-screen, and the picture changed. Harry's stomach gave a little twist at the appearance of the scar-faced figure: Lupin. A wave of muttering rippled through the class.  
  
Werewolves were horror stories, demons with which to frighten a naughty child: _don't stray away or a werewolf'll get you_, _if you don't behave I'll feed you to a werewolf_. Wizarding children were raised on fear and hatred of the Dark, and werewolves were Dark Creatures to the bone. Fear of the monster bred fear of those who housed it, and even the mere sight of Lupin, the most notorious werewolf ever, was enough to inspire a chill of terror in those brought up to fear and hate him.  
  
Strangely, Harry, who had most to fear from the man, felt no rush of fear or hatred or revulsion. In fact, he felt almost sorry for the gaunt, ill-looking figure on the screen.  
  
Somebody in the back of the class hissed with loathing and the sound was taken up and swelled alarmingly, soon the class rang with 'boo's and shouts. The picture of Lupin, a Muggle one rather than a moving wizarding picture, smiled benignly out at them, unhearing. Harry's stomach twisted.  
  
"Now, class, shush. Class!" Professor Fell shouted. "Class! Detention, all of you!" The roar petered out and finally died, leaving a tense silence in its wake. "I am shocked," the professor went on, "absolutely shocked. I expected to be teaching sensible third-years, not a troupe of wild animals. You will all serve detention with me next Monday, and I mean _everybody_," this last addressed to Hermione, who had been about to protest that _she_ hadn't made a single sound.  
  
Harry felt a little sick. The magnitude of the hatred, the rawness of it, shocked him. He had heard less anger used when speaking about the atrocities committed by Lord Voldemort himself. Did all werewolves have this brutal prejudice to fight against?  
  
Professor Fell, sensing the dangerous mood of the class, took the picture down and spent the rest of the lesson calmly reading through the chapter on werewolves, setting them an essay of three feet on the ways in which you recognised and killed werewolves. Harry was glad when the bell finally rang and he could escape the oppressive atmosphere. The people around him were talking in low, angry whispers, "What's she thinking, putting _that_ up in class?", "Bet you a sack of Galleons she's one of _them_." Harry sped up to get away from them.  
  
"Harry, wait." Ron and Hermione were catching up with him. "Are you alright?"  
  
"Me? Yeah, why?"  
  
"Thought that picture might have, dunno, caught you a bit off-guard," Ron said, looking embarrassed.  
  
"I told you, I'm not afraid of Lupin. I don't know why everyone got so worked up about him."  
  
Hermione scowled. "Ooh, that woman, giving the whole class detention because of some idiots," she fumed. Ron looked sheepish, and Harry remembered that he had hissed along with the rest of the class.  
  
"Right, yeah, awful," Ron muttered. "What's next, Potions? We'd better get a move on, then, hadn't we. Let's go."

* * *

"Late, late and," Snape smiled unpleasantly as his dark eyes lingered on Harry, "late. Dear me, Potter, this is not our week, is it? Another hour of detention tonight. Now sit."  
  
Harry, blazing with anger and indignation, glared at Snape as he took his seat. Malfoy had arrived at precisely the same time as Harry, Ron and Hermione and _he_ had not been picked out. Draco said something to Pansy Parkinson, who giggled shrilly, further infuriating Harry.  
  
"Shrinking Solution," Snape announced. "You will find the ingredients in their usual places, and I expect you to work in perfect silence. Begin," he said loftily, and sat down at his desk, completely ignoring the class as he bent his hooked nose over a stack of essays.  
  
Harry set to work on his potion immediately, not wanting to give Snape another excuse to give him any further detention. The potion was fiddly and intricate, demanding full attention, but Harry's mind was not completely on the task at hand.  
  
The image of Lupin seemed to be burned into his mind, along with the hateful roar of the class. He had to keep reminding himself that Lupin was a convicted mass-murderer, a Death Eater, a madman who was coming after him to try and kill him, because he was finding himself almost pitying the werewolf. He wished that he knew the whole story. Perhaps Hermione would help him to research it?  
  
"Hey Potter!" Malfoy's drawl interrupted his train of thought.  
  
"What?" he snapped.  
  
"_No talking, Potter_," Snape hissed from his desk. Harry managed not to snarl that it had been Malfoy who started it, because it would be childish and futile - Snape would never punish a student of his own house.  
  
Harry bent back over his potion, which was not the bright green of Hermione's, but at least it was not the startling orange colour of Neville's. He added a dash of leech juice and it fizzled nastily before turning a mouldy-bread shade; not perfect, but good enough. He began clearing away his station, and then something hit him in the back of the neck. He turned to see Malfoy studiously ignoring him.  
  
"Pay attention, Potter," Snape warned, and Harry turned back to his cauldron.  
  
It was a few minutes before the next little ball of parchment landed on his desk, right in the middle of a puddle of leech juice which had dribbled out of its jar. Harry picked up the tiny ball, nose wrinkled in distaste, and opened it. A crude stick drawing of a wolf, fangs bared, took up most of the scrap of parchement. As Harry watched, another little stick figure wandered into the picture, sporting a lightning-bolt scar. The stick-wolf snapped at the stick-Harry, biting him in two and then devouring him eagerly. Harry rolled his eyes and made a show of ripping the scrap into tiny pieces, then scattering them onto the cauldron flame. Wolf-jaws snapped at him from the fire, and then burned away into nothing.

* * *

Harry had never wished so fervently that the school day was not over. Thinking enviously of Ron and Hermione in the Gryffindor common room, perhaps playing Wizard Chess or Exploding Snap, he reluctantly made his way down to the dungeons, where Snape was waiting for him.  
  
"Ah, Potter," he drawled in his oily, superior voice. "I see you have managed to arrive on time, for once."  
  
Harry fought to control his deep dislike of Snape. "What do I have to do?"  
  
"You will assist me in the brewing of a very difficult, very complex potion. I would have preferred an assistant who is a little more capable, but you will suffice. Do you see the ingredients listed on the blackboard?"  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
"Collect them, and set them out, in the correct quantities, in the order that they must be used, on the work-station at the front of the class. Do you understand me?"  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
"If I find that any ingredients are missing from my private stores, I will have you excluded from the school. Is that clear?"  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
"Then hurry up."  
  
Although Harry had not actually been in Snape's own ingredient cupboard before, he had helped Hermione to steal the ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion in their second year. He had the unpleasant feeling that Snape _knew_, but Harry couldn't let his guilt show, and so he went about setting out the ingredients carefully and accurately. The ingredients were many and potent: dragon's blood, unicorn hair, basilisk scales, silver filings, and a large quantity of aconite to name but a few. Snape double-checked Harry's work and said nothing, which Harry took as a small victory - if Snape said nothing, it was because he had nothing to criticise.  
  
Then came the brewing of the potion. The cauldron was large and heavy, made of thick silver and the fire beneath it so hot that the metal glowed first red, then white; Harry had to keep feeding it with foul-smelling, quick-burning logs of a wood he didn't recognise to keep it going. Snape worked feverishly, adding ingredient after ingredient, the sweat dripping down his long, hooked nose and the greasy hair swinging about his face like black rats' tails. The potion itself hissed and spat and fumed, turning first a deep, bloody red; then black; then rich purple; then thick, mud-brown; then, as the aconite went in, it flared silver for a moment before becoming clear.  
  
Snape drew back, panting. The thick silver steam wreathed about him, blurring his outline, so that Harry could hardly see him.  
  
"Your two hours are completed," Snape said, when he had caught his breath. "You may go."  
  
Harry lingered, watching the potion, which was simmering now, though still giving off copious amounts of vapour. "What potion is it, sir?"  
  
Snape's hooded black eyes regarded him, gleaming in the flickering light of the cauldron-fire. "Wolfsbane," he said at last, and then, "Your detention is over. Get out."  
  
This time Harry obeyed, and hurried back up to Gryffindor Tower.  
  
"Wolfsbane potion," he said to Hermione, sinking into a chair next to her. Ron was nowhere to be seen.  
  
She looked up at him over her pile of homework and textbooks and blinked owlishly. "What?"  
  
"Wolfsbane potion. What does it do?"  
  
" I don't know. Why?"  
  
"Snape made me help him brew it. Where's Ron?" He looked around for Ron, who was not in the common room.  
  
"Oh, sulking in the library. Crookshanks had another go at Scabbers. Snape made you help him brew a potion?"  
  
"Yeah, Wolfsbane. Do you know anything about it?"  
  
"No. What was in it?"  
  
"Loads of stuff. Dragon's blood, unicorn hair, er...silver shavings, I thought that was a bit odd. And aconite, too, loads of that."  
  
"Aconite and silver." Hermione tapped her quill distractedly. "Sounds like a potion for werewolves. Maybe something to keep them away? I don't know, Harry, look I'm really, really busy. See how much homework I've got and it's only the first week!" Her voice was high and slightly panicked as she gestured at the piles of books and mounds of parchment littering the table.  
  
"Alright, alright," Harry said, backing slowly away. "Calm down."  
  
He left her to her books and went down to the library, where Ron was hunched over a stack of books on Dark Creatures, researching his werewolf essay. He looked up as Harry approached.  
  
"Alright?" he said. "How was detention? What did Snape have you doing?"  
  
"Brewing a potion. Wolfsbane, but he didn't say what it was for. Hermione thinks it's something to do with werewolves."  
  
Ron snorted derisively at the mention of Hermione. "Did she tell you that mad animal of hers tried to eat Scabbers again?"  
  
"Yeah. How's he doing?"  
  
Ron glanced left and right, making sure that the librarian wasn't watching them, then discreetly pulled Scabbers out of his pocket. The rat was in a dreadful state; great clumps of his fur had come out and the skin underneath was pink and raw. He trembled constantly and bit anything that came near him, including Ron.  
  
"Not looking too good, is he?" Ron admitted, pocketing Scabbers.

* * *

The Hogsmeade visit drew closer. Set for the first weekend in October, it was all most of the third-years could talk about. Everybody planned what they were going to do: visit the Shrieking Shack, spend a full month's allowance on Zonko jokes and Honeydukes sweets. Everybody, that is, except Harry. He had not heard from Sirius since arriving at Hogwarts, and was sure that there was no way he was going to allow Harry to go to Hogsmeade, not with Lupin sighted so close.  
  
It was the week before the visit, a quiet Wednesday night in the library where Harry sat alone. Hermione and Ron were in the Common Room, finishing off some homework, but Harry wanted to research the Wolfsbane potion. He was not making progress. The heavy old tomes told him nothing, and gave off a musty, ancient smell that made his head ache and his eyes sting. Tired and annoyed, Harry snapped the book shut and tossed it onto the table, earning him a sharp look and a vicious _shush_ from Madam Pince  
  
"Sorry," Harry whispered, and decided that he had better make himself scarce before he got another detention. He returned his stack of books to their proper shelves, aware of the librarian's eagle-eyed gaze, and made his way slowly back up to Gryffindor Tower.  
  
" Oi, Harry!"  
  
"Wait a minute!"  
  
Harry paused and waited for the Weasley twins to catch up with him.  
  
"Come in here," said George, pointing at an empty classroom and casting alert glances around to make sure that there were no teachers around. Harry followed George, suspicious and wondering what kind of trouble Fred and George were planning.  
  
"Got you an early Christmas present Harry," Fred grinned, when they were settled in the empty classroom. He pulled an old bit of parchment out of his bag and handed it to Harry, who examined it critically.  
  
"An old bit of parchment?" he asked. Fred and George rolled their eyes.  
  
"An old bit of parchment? This little beauty is the secret to our success!" Fred announced.  
  
"Tap it with your wand" George instructed, "and say 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!'"  
  
Harry did as George said, wondering whether it was some kind of practical joke.  
  
"What's supposed to happ-" he began, and then broke off in surprise as inky lines began to spread out from his wand-tip. The lines flowed and twisted, forming words in ornate, flowing script - 'Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs proudly present The Marauders Map' - then continued to spread over the whole parchment, twisting into shapes - rooms, Harry saw; it was a map! A perfect map of Hogwarts, down to the last passage, down to the very last person! Harry watched, fascinated, the little name-tag that read 'Harry Potter', right next to two other name-tags that read 'Fred Weasley' and 'George Weasley'.  
  
"Good, isn't it?" George grinned.  
  
"It's...amazing!" Harry agreed.  
  
"See, there are four passages out of Hogwarts and into Hogsmeade," Fred explained, pointing each one out. "This one's collapsed; this one's blocked; this one's right underneath the Whomping Willow, so it's a no-go; but _this_ one, behind the hump-backed witch, will lead you right into the storeroom underneath Honeydukes."  
  
"Take care of it, Harry," George said, with a small sigh.  
  
"Won't you need it?"  
  
"Nah, we've memorised all the passageways. It's time for it to be passed along to a new generation of troublemakers," Fred said.  
  
"Well, thanks," Harry said, still watching the map. He could see Dumbledore in his office, Snape down in the dungeons, even Hermione and Ron up in Gryffindor Tower, sitting with someone Harry didn't recognise - a 'Peter Pettigrew' who Harry dismissed as being one of the new first-years  
  
"When you want to clear it, just tap it and say 'Mischief managed!'" George instructed, tapping it lightly. The inky lines began to morph and wiggle towards the wand-tip, and then the parchment was just that: a plain, slightly ragged-looking scrap.  
  
"And be careful," Fred warned, "Filch knows about this; we stole it from his office. We don't think that he knows what it _does_, but he might recognise it and think you stole it."  
  
"Right," Harry said, "Thanks!"  
  
Fred and George grinned, and cast a last fond glance at the Marauder's Map before creeping out of the classroom.  
  
Harry stayed a little longer. With this map he could get to Hogsmeade and past the Dementors. But it would also mean disobeying Sirius. Harry looked at the parchment in his hand. Was Hogsmeade really worth it?  
  
Harry sighed and stuffed the map into his pocket. He would decide later.  
  
The morning of the Hogsmeade trip dawned bright and sunny, with the sharp-edged bite of approaching winter evident now. The Great Hall hummed and buzzed with the excited chatter of the Third Years. Harry, glum and moody, didn't even look up as the owl post swooped through.  
  
"Harry, look!" Ron said. "That's Sirius' owl, isn't it?" Harry looked up to see that yes, it was indeed Rover, Sirius' owl, flapping towards them with an envelope clamped in his beak. The big owl landed awkwardly on a pitcher of pumpkin juice and blinked at Harry.  
  
"Hullo, Rover," Harry said, stroking the owl's feathers and taking the letter. Rover made a little noise of approval and began finishing Harry's toast for him.  
  
Harry, curiosity and slight worry rising in him, opened the letter and read.  
  
_Harry,  
  
I assume you've seen the Prophet recently? Lupin was definitely there in Hogsmeade on the full moon. I want you to be safe, Harry.  
  
So it might come as a bit of a shock that with this letter I've also enclosed your Hogsmeade permission slip, signed by me, and I've checked with Dumbledore and it is valid. I'd much rather that you had the protection of the Dementors with you than to try and sneak out alone, which I am almost sure that you were planning to do, although I don't know how you were going to manage it with Dementors around the castle. You're exactly like your father was at your age, Harry!  
  
There's no way that Lupin can get to you in Hogsmeade or Hogwarts. You will be safe.  
  
Have fun, and send me some Honeydukes chocolate!  
  
Sirius.  
_  
An uncontrollable grin began to spread itself across Harry's face.  
  
"What?" Ron said, an expression of slight bewilderment on his face as he watched Harry beam like an idiot at the letter. "What did Sirius say?"  
  
"He said I can go to Hogsmeade! He's signed my permission slip!" said Harry exultantly, waving the permission slip signed with Sirius' untidy scrawling signature.  
  
"Really?" Hermione asked, slight disapproval lurking in her voice. "He thinks it's safe enough for you?"  
  
"Well, the Dementors will be there won't they? And how can Lupin expect to get around a wizarding town unseen? Everybody will recognise him. He wouldn't get within ten metres of me before somebody cursed him."  
  
"Well..." Hermione said, seeming to relent. "I suppose Sirius knows what he's talking about."  
  
Harry smiled happily, and began eagerly plotting what he was going to spend his money on.

* * *

A/N: Gah, sorry for the delay. School is a black hole by which we innocent students are devoured, never to be seen again. Anyway, here it is and, as always, reviews and constructive criticism are not so much welcomed as _craved_. There should be another chapter along before too long, so hang in there! 


	6. Chapter Five

Title: Harry Potter and the Werewolf of Azkaban Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, settings or anything else from Harry Potter.

Warnings: AU

Chapter Five

"...the only fully magical village in the whole of Great Britain," Hermione explained, the latest in a series of facts about the village she had been offering to Ron and Harry on their way, starting with its founding and covering every event in its history since. "So, really, it's going to be _fascinating_ isn't it? I mean, Diagon Alley is wonderful but it's not completely wizarding. There's still Muggle London right outside the Leaky Cauldron, and even with all the protection spells they still have to be careful that Muggles don't find out, but here they haven't got any sort of problems like that."

Harry made a noise of agreement, not really listening but planning what he was going to do. The Shrieking Shack, Zonko's, the Three Broomsticks; he wanted to see _everything_. Beside him, Ron also seemed to be lost in his own thoughts rather than admiring Hermione's ability to memorise really shockingly boring facts.

"...and you know, they say that - oh _look_," Hermione gasped, pointing ahead. Harry looked up to see Hogsmeade laid out before him, a cluster of little thatched building huddled together and looking chocolate-box picturesque."Isn't is wonderful?"

Harry didn't answer, but his wide grin spoke volumes, and he mentally thanked Sirius a thousand times over.

* * *

A few hours later, and Harry's money bags were considerably lighter, but his pockets were bulging with all manner of sweets and tricks. Honeydukes had occupied them for a good hour alone; the free treats were really too good to pass up (although Ron got a nasty burn from a Pepper Imp, and Hermione berated them for even contemplating the Cockroach Clusters). 

"Where d'you fancy now, then?" Ron asked. "The Three Broomsticks or the Shack?" The look of exhaustion on his face plainly stated which he would prefer, and he didn't seem at all sorry when Hermione and Harry both said they would prefer the comfort of the Three Broomsticks to another trudge through the cold to the Shack.

Inside the pub it was warm and comfortably crowded, cheerfully noisy. Madame Rosmerta had decorated for Christmas already, and the twinkling fairy-lights on the Christmas trees dotted around the room added a friendly sparkle to the space.

"I'll get the Butterbeers," Harry offered. "You go and find us a seat, yeah?" Hermione and Ron moved off through the crowd and Harry dug into his pockets, searching for a few Galleons that had escaped his spending spree, but instead of the cold metal of coins, his fingers brushed the roughness of parchment and, frowning, he pulled it out. Oh, of course, the Map; he'd forgotten to put it away somewhere safe. He wondered if it would work here...

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he muttered, careful that no-one around him could hear the words or see the inky lines curl gracefully out from the point of his wand and fill the sheet. The Map showed Hogwarts and the grounds, and Harry was about to clear it, slightly disappointed, when a setting and a label caught his eye:

The Shrieking Shack was pictured, and just outside it was a label marked in that elegant script _Remus_ _Lupin_.

Harry stared. It couldn't be, could it? But it was. For a moment he felt afraid - someone who wanted to kill him, so close. And then he remembered his earlier conviction that Lupin had not appeared to be a murderous lunatic, and his pity for the emaciated figure in Professor Fell's class. An idea rose and shaped itself in his mind, and it was absolutely and completely ridiculous and dangerous, and if Sirius knew about it he would take away Harry's permission slip and tear it into a million little scraps, and if Hermione knew then she'd do that McGonagall voice she was so good at, and she'd common-sense him out of it, but deep in Harry's gut he knew he had to do it.

Stuffing the map back into his pocket, he pulled out a few Galleons and hurriedly bought three Butterbeers from the bar, then made his way to the table that Ron and Hermione had managed to get.

"I'll be right back," he promised, setting the bottles down with such haste that he spilt half of their contents over the table. "I've just remembered that I need a new, um, quill. I won't be long, I promise."

And ignoring Ron's questions and Hermione's protests he raced out of the pub and towards the Shrieking Shack.

* * *

It was really cold now, the bright blue of the sky marred with heavy, iron-grey clouds that promised snow in the near future, and close to the Shack it was _bitterly_ cold with a wind that seemed to lance straight through Harry's robe and cloak. With numb fingers he traced his progress on the Map; the footsteps of _Harry Potter_ growing ever closer to the label of _Remus Lupin_ until they were so close that Harry looked up, expecting to see Lupin right in front of him. 

Which he was.

Harry felt again that strong gut-instinct telling him that Lupin was not going to kill him, and that wave of pity too, but through his rational brain ran the mantra, _thirteen people dead, thirteen people dead_.

"Hello, Harry," said Lupin, with a crooked smile that stretched the scar tissue tight over the bones of his skull. Long ago it would have been a friendly, appealing smile; you would have liked Lupin instantly, Harry felt.

"Hello," said Harry, in the absence of anything better to say. "How did you know I'd come?"

"I smelled you coming," Lupin said, tapping his nose playfully, but Harry felt that he was only half teasing. "You know what I am?"

"Yes."

"And that doesn't...doesn't frighten you?"

"No," Harry said honestly."Should I be afraid?"

"Most people would be afraid, when coming face to face with a werewolf who massacred thirteen people. But I'm not going to kill you, Harry, if that's what you mean."

"Then you did kill all those people?"

"In a manner of speaking, I suppose I did, yes. I didn't say the words of the curse, and I wasn't holding the wand, but I suppose I did kill them."

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I, Harry. But I am going to. I am going to find out what happened. That's why I've come here."

"I-" Harry began, but Lupin cut him off.

"Somebody is coming," he warned. "Not close yet, but getting closer."

Harry pulled out the Map and checked. "It's Malfoy," he sighed, disappointed to have the meeting cut so short. "Draco Malfoy," he began to explain, looking up at Lupin, but Lupin wasn't listening; he was staring at the Map.

"Where did you get that?" Lupin said breathlessly, stepping close to Harry and peering at the Map with a strange expression on his face. He reached out and touched the edges of it gently. "I haven't seen that in a long, long time."

"How do you know what this is?" Harry asked, but Lupin was already drawing away towards the trees.

"We'll meet again. But maybe you'll hear from me before then," he added cryptically, throwing Harry a parting smile and a wink before disappearing into the leafy shadows.

Harry gazed fixedly at the spot through which the werewolf had vanished, with more questions raised by the meeting than had been answered. He had an uneasiness in the pit of his stomach and was beginning to wish that he hadn't had this ridiculous idea.

"Here you are, Potter," Malfoy's voice disturbed Harry's thoughts, and he turned to find the other boy heading up the path towards him. "What are you doing here all alone, I wonder. Meeting somebody?"

"Get lost, Malfoy," Harry responded automatically, too confused to formulate a slightly better insult.

"My my, we are touchy, aren't we? What's the matter, Potter, have Mudblood and the Weasel dumped you?"

"I mean it Malfoy, just get lost." Harry pushed past Draco and stormed down the path towards Hogsmeade town. Draco followed.

"Were you looking for your lunatic stalker, Potter? Trying out the old heroics again?"

Harry stopped dead. "How do you know about that?"

"When you have friends in high places, you get to hear about these things. Of course, you wouldn't know," Draco sneered. "But I don't blame you, of course. If it were _me_, I'd stop at nothing to get him."

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Harry was exasperated by the knowing, superior tone of Draco's voice.

"Well, you can't just let a person get away with doing something like that to your family, can you? If you ask me, Azkaban was too good for him. My father, for one, voted for the silver bullet."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy. Just leave me alone, alright?" Harry turned very deliberately away from the other boy and started off again down the path. Behind him Draco laughed.

"You mean you don't _know_? Oh, this is perfect! This is priceless!" Draco's high, silvery voice followed Harry all the way down the deserted path.

When Harry reached Hogsmeade again the students were grouped together in the town square, being counted and getting ready to make their way back to Hogwarts

"Ah, there you are, Mr Potter. Glad you could join us," McGonagall said, ticking his name off on her list with great deliberation, as though he had inconvenienced her greatly. "I don't suppose you've seen our Mr Malfoy on your travels, have you?"

"He's on his way," Harry mumbled and made for the back of the line, where he could see Ron and Hermione anxiously looking about for him.

"Harry, where on earth have you _been_?" Hermione snapped as he approached. "We waited for ages and you never came back."

"Yeah, we thought you were taking a while for a few quills," Ron said, dryly. "Where were you, mate? Why couldn't you tell us about it?"

"I'm sorry. It's complicated," Harry sighed. "I'll tell you later, I promise."

"Yes, well, you're not the only ones with things to tell," said Hermione, and she stuck her nose in the air and refused to say anything more on the subject.

* * *

The Gryffindor Common Room cleared early that night, the older students worn out by their trip and the younger sick of the talk of fun they couldn't join in on yet. By eleven o'clock only Harry, Ron and Hermione were left up, settled close to the fire. 

"I think it's safe now," Hermione decided. "So come on then, tell us what was so very important."

Harry had thought a lot about how much to tell his friends, because it wasn't just the meeting with Lupin, was it? It was the Map too, and that could get Fred and George into trouble as well. He'd struggled with it, and finally come to the conclusion that honesty was probably the best policy, so long as Ron and Hermione were sworn to secrecy.

So he told them everything, watching them carefully. Hermione started off calm, listening eagerly, and moved through various degrees of indignation (at the Map), shock, and horror (at Harry's meeting with Lupin). Harry was grateful for Ron, who listened intently throughout and threw warning glances at Hermione whenever she seemed close to interrupting. At last Harry finished his tale, and he sat back and waited with trepidation for their verdict.

"Can we see the Map?" Ron asked eventually.

"Yeah." Harry pulled out the Map and spoke the words, then handed it to Ron.

"It's...amazing," Ron said, studying it carefully. "I dunno why Fred and George never showed it to me."

"Perhaps they thought you'd have a bit more sense and would hand it in to a teacher," Hermione snapped in exasperation. "Oh, _Harry_, can't you see how dangerous this thing is? Can you just imagine what would happen if it got into the wrong hands?"

"Yeah, but it's not going to, is it? I've got it."

"For now, yes," said Hermione ominously. "But I think you ought to hand it in to McGonagall, or Dumbledore, or _someone_."

"And get Fred and George into trouble?" Harry snorted. "No way. I'm not giving it up."

"But Har-"

"No, Hermione. Subject closed. Now, what did you have to tell me?"

Hermione went very quiet, and glanced at Ron, who was resolutely gazing into the fire and would meet neither her nor Harry's eyes. Harry began to feel uncomfortable.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Come on, you can tell me."

"Promise you won't get angry, Harry. You've got to just listen to us, okay?"

Harry nodded. Hermione took a deep breath, and began.

"We were waiting for you in the Three Broomsticks - because we had no idea where you were so we couldn't go looking for you, could we- and who should walk in but McGonagall, Hagrid, Cornelius Fudge and Sirius-"

"Sirius!" Harry broke in. "He never said!" Hermione silenced him with a look, and went on.

"Anyway, they ordered their drinks and went over to a table just behind us. They never saw us, though, because we were hidden behind a Christmas tree. Madame Rosmerta brought their drinks over, and they were just talking about ordinary things." She broke off, and Harry waited as she seemed to collect her story. "And then they started talking about Lupin. Madame Rosmerta asked when the Minister was going to send the Dementors back to Azkaban, and he said when they caught Lupin but that it was difficult finding a werewolf and they were all doing their best.

"And then Hagrid started talking about the day Lupin was arrested. Fudge was actually there; he said it was awful. McGonagall used to teach Lupin, and she said what a good boy he'd been in school and how Dumbledore had fought for him to be let into Hogwarts in the first place. She - she said how pleased she'd been when he found friends." Hermione stopped again, steeling herself for the revelation. "Harry, Lupin's best friends were Peter Pettigrew, Sirius and your father. And he betrayed your parents to Voldemort. That was how Voldemort found your parents and - and -"

"Killed them," Harry said blankly. "He killed them."

"Harry, I'm sorry. We had to tell you." Hermione bit her lip, looking as if she were about to cry. "Dumbledore did a Fidelius Charm on Lupin, so he was the only one who knew where your parents were hiding."

"And that was the opportunity he was waiting for, wasn't it? They played right into his hands." Harry chuckled darkly. "Sirius knew, and he never told me."

"Maybe he thought you'd go after Lupin," Ron said. "He just wants to keep you safe. You're his only link to his best mate, aren't you?"

"Draco Malfoy knew," said Harry, ignoring Ron. "He said something about it today, but I didn't know what he was on about then."

"How could Malfoy know?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

"I bet everyone knows," Harry said bitterly. He got up and walked away a few paces, hiding his tear-filled eyes from his friends. "I bet everyone knows, and I'm the only one who doesn't when I'm the one person in the world who should know."

"Sirius probably feels really guilty he never spotted that Lupin was a spy," Ron suggested. "Maybe that's why he never told you."

"I don't care. He should have told me. I'm going to write to him," Harry decided, and he headed to the staircase that led to the boys' dormitory.

"Harry, no!" Hermione stopped him, grabbing his am. "He'll know we listened to their private conversation."

"Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn't have in the first place," Harry snapped.

"You're too angry tonight, Harry. You're not thinking straight. Leave it until the morning."

Harry stood still, his mind a turmoil of thoughts. He'd trusted Sirius, and Sirius had been keeping this from him all the time. He'd trusted Lupin, and Lupin had turned out to be not only a murderer, but the murderer of Harry's own parents. How could his judgement be so bad? How could he trust it again?

"In the morning, then," he said quietly. "But I am going to have it out with him. This is too big."

"I know. I'm sorry," Hermione breathed, and she let go of his arm. "We had to tell you."

"Thank you," Harry said. "And you, Ron," he added.

"No problem, mate," Ron smiled, moving to stand next to Hermione. "Somebody's got to look out for you, haven't they?"

Harry nodded and smiled weakly. He was so tired, just wanted to lie down and let all this go away. In the morning, he told himself, in the morning, it will be better.

* * *

A/N: For anyone still reading this after the six months since the last update, I can only say that I'm really, really sorry for the delay. Life sucks, doesn't it? 

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, and remember, the feedback button is always your friend.


	7. Chapter Six

Title: Harry Potter and the Werewolf of Azkaban

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, settings or anything else from Harry Potter.

Warnings: AU

Chapter Six

It snowed during the night, and Harry lay awake for a long time watching the fat heavy flakes bump against the window. When he woke up in the morning the world was white as far as he could see, and Hogwarts seemed like a tiny island adrift on a vast sea of snow.

Breakfast, but he didn't feel like eating. Ron and Hermione cast worried glances at each other that they thought he couldn't see, and Harry was grateful for them, but couldn't tear his mind away from the letter he would have to write soon. He was a jumble of feelings, none of them making enough sense to put into words. Anger, betrayal, hurt, all these, but also sympathy and other feelings that just didn't seem right after what he'd learned the night before.

_How could Sirius do this to him? How could Harry himself be so stupid_

A noise distracted him and he looked up from his cold, barely-touched toast to see the owls swooping into the Great Hall. Sirius' owl was among them.

Rover came to a messy landing right on Harry's toast, which he wasted no time in devouring. Harry took the letter from its leg, recognising his godfather's scruffy scrawl on the address, and was about to open it when another owl crashed onto the table before him.

The tiny owl hooted shrilly, flapping its wings with nervous energy so hard that it almost hovered above the table. It was unfamiliar, but did not wear the mark of a post office owl around its leg.

"Not me," Harry told it. "I don't know you. You want someone else."

Hoot! Hoot! The owl hopped closer. Rover looked up from his meal and gave it a contemptuous glare.

Harry, curious, looked at the address on the letter attached to the owl's leg. _Harry Potter, Hogwarts_, in a neat, even hand. He unfastened the clasp which secured it and examined the envelope. It was plain but for the address and the words _open in private_ on the other side. Strange.

"Who's it from?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," Harry replied, frowning. "I don't recognise the handwriting."

"Open it," said Hermione.

"It says 'open in private'," said Harry. "You don't think it's from the Ministry, do you? About my aunt?"

"Ministry owls are...not like that one," Ron said, indicating the tiny creature that was flying in fast, tight circles around the pitcher of orange juice, drawing many oohs and awws from the girls at the table. "Anyway, you said Fudge had sorted all that out."

"Well then, let's see what Sirius has got to say first." Harry opened the letter.

_Harry,_

_How was Hogsmeade? Brilliant, I bet. Try not to get into too much trouble with all those Zonko's that I bet you've spent most of your money on, and even if you do, don't worry, because you're coming to spend Christmas with me this year! The Weasleys are coming too, so we'll have a full house. Ask Hermione if she wants to stay as well._

_Can't wait to see you again, Harry. It's going to be the best Christmas ever, I promise._

_Sirius_

Harry wanted to be angry with Sirius. He'd spent the whole night being angry, burning inside with the unfairness of it all; but now, reading Sirius' words and seeing how excited he was, he remembered the first time he'd met him, and all the times they'd spent together since. It was difficult.

"Well?" Hermione prompted. "What does it say?"

"Says we're spending Christmas at his place this year," Harry said, passing the letter to Ron. "You're invited too, Hermione."

"Sounds like he's looking forward to it," said Ron. "That'll be good. Unless you aren't speaking to him because of yesterday?"

"I don't know. Part of me wants to write to him, because it's...it's just easier. Part of me thinks I should wait until I see him."

"He might be able to explain why he did it," Hermione suggested. "Give him a chance."

"I know, I know, but still..." Harry took the letter back and folded it neatly, holding it tightly in his hand. "I don't know. I don't feel like I know anything anymore." He sighed.

"Well, what about the other letter?" Hermione prodded.

"It says 'Open in private'."

"Well, we're not going to tell anyone are we? Come on, Harry It might be important."

Something in the writing, the way each firm black letter was exactly proportionate to the ones before and after it, something in the evenness of it, something that familiar without being recognisable. Harry regarded the letter intently, hardly hearing Hermione.

"No," he said at last. "No, it's my letter. I'll open it later."

"But, Harry-"

"Hermione, no," he snapped. "It's my letter, it's addressed to me, not to you or Ron. I'll open it when I want to."

Hermione blinked, looking hurt. "A-alright," she said. "If that's what you want to do. I haven't got time, anyway. I've got to go and do my homework." She got up a little more quickly than usual and left, without looking back.

Ron just sat and looked uncomfortable, and Harry wished that he hadn't been so snappish with them. It was just...everything.

He tucked the letter into his robes.

"We'd better do our homework, too," he said a little awkwardly, standing up. "I don't want to give Snape another chance to take points off us."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, but his voice was stiff and slightly distant.

Harry felt guilt settle in his belly, joining the myriad other emotions he was struggling with. Great, he thought. As if things couldn't get any worse.

He turned to leave, and as he did he glanced over at the Slytherin table. He started. Draco Malfoy's eyes were on him like headlights, like a physical force, practically spitting sparks of such sheer hatred that Harry almost stepped back from the force of it, but then Goyle muttered something in Malfoy's ear and Draco turned away, leaving Harry staring rather stupidly at the Slytherin table until Pansy Parkinson made a rude gesture at him and Ron dragged him away.

* * *

_Open in private_.

The letter sat on the table next to a stack of textbooks and great heaps of parchment. Harry was supposed to be working on his Potions essay, but his eyes kept slipping from the facts and figures to the letter. The letter. He had to open it.

Ron was bent low over his essay, frowning with concentration and angrily crossing out a word or a quantity here and there; he wouldn't notice if Harry stopped working for a moment. The letter couldn't be long, he reasoned, it would be the work of a moment to scan over it. It couldn't be that important, probably just junk mail - did wizards get junk mail? he wondered idly - or something like that.

He glanced at Ron, who was still absorbed in copying down some notes from the textbook. Harry seized his chance and took up the letter, ripping open the envelope and spreading the thin sheet of paper over his own essay, bending over it so that it would look as if he were working on it.

_Didn't I tell you that you'd hear from me?_

A chill ran the length of Harry's spine, and the Common Room seemed to recede from his awareness so that he was absorbed wholly in the letter.

_Don't worry. I'm nowhere near Hogwarts now. You're safe from me - not that you were ever in any danger, but I suppose your godfather has told you differently. A full moon is coming up and I must get to a safe place, safe for myself and for others. I wouldn't wish my curse on anyone._

_But I digress. I wanted to continue our conversation near the Shack. I was sorry when we were so rudely interrupted by Mister Malfoy. I wonder if he is anything like his father - I suppose so, or he wouldn't be after you as he is. I heard him talking to you after I left. I wouldn't worry too much about a Malfoy; they talk a good threat, but are fundamentally cowards, as bullies generally are. Dudley Dursley, for example?_

_I must admit you startled me when you pulled out that old map. I hadn't seen it in such a long time, and it brought back memories. Difficult memories. We must talk about it at some time._

_If you want to write back to me, send the letter with the little owl it came with. He will stay around the school until you call for him. His name is Pigwidgeon, which I assure you I did not choose myself. Don't think of telling anyone, Harry, because they won't find me. But I don't think you will anyway, will you? You wouldn't have come to meet me at the Shack if you wanted them to catch me._

_I hope to hear from you soon. Until then, keep well._

_Remus J. Lupin_.

Harry sat feeling as though he'd just woken up from something like a nightmare. Hogwarts was safe, he knew that logically, but in his gut for the first time he was /afraid, afraid that someone from outside could get in.

He should tell Sirius this. He should tell Dumbledore. He should tell _somebody_.

And admit that he'd gone to see Remus outside the Shack? Admit that he'd actually spoken to the man who had betrayed his parents?

"Are you alright?" Ron was looking at him in concern.

Harry wrestled a moment with the selfish impulse to say that he was fine, to keep this secret for himself. Guilt washed through him, though, and he handed over the letter. Ron read over it quickly, and his face grew darker with every line. Finally he set it down and said,

"Bloody hell."

Harry couldn't have put it better himself, and smiled at Ron's outburst.

"Seriously, Harry, bloody hell. You've got to tell someone."

"I can't. Then they'll know that I went looking for him."

"What are you going to do, then?"

Harry turned the letter over in his hands. It felt wrong, to be holding something written by the hands that had killed his parents. Or rather, it didn't feel wrong. He felt guilty for not feeling guilty, for not experiencing that rushing hatred that he was so sure he should feel towards a werewolf and a murderer and a follower of Lord Voldemort.

"I don't know," he said at last. "I...I'm not going to tell anyone, I don't think."

"You're not going to write back, though?"

"No," Harry scoffed, but in the back of his mind was that self-same idea. He could find Lupin through these letters. He could...he could...go up against a Death Eater, the slaughterer of thirteen Muggles and one wizard with a single curse?

Ron was looking at him closely. "You _are_ going to write back."

"I'm not!"

"I know you, mate. You're thinking that you could take him yourself. Don't, Harry. Tell Dumbledore or something. Let other people handle it, just this once."

"What, let the man - the _werewolf_ - who betrayed my parents get away? He'll get away, Ron. I won't let him get away. If I could, I'd...I'd-"

"Kill him?"

Harry looked at Ron in shock. Put like that, so bluntly, it sounded horrifying, but he couldn't deny that that had been the spirit of his plan, even if he hadn't wanted to admit it.

"How would that make you any different from him?" Ron went on, and Harry wondered from where Ron was pulling this sense, this wisdom, in a way.

"It would be different," he insisted. Ron was quiet. Their forgotten homework lay spread between them, suddenly childish and insignificant, something wholly out of place amid talk of _werewolves_ and _betrayers_ and _murder_.

"Harry," Ron said at last, "do you remember the first Divination lesson, when Trelawney said you had the Grim in your cup?"

Harry nodded. It had seemed funny at the time, wild-eyed Trelawney peering tragically at him over those ridiculous spectacles.

"Well," Ron continued, "don't you think you'd better be careful? McGonagall said that none of Trelawney's other students have died but none of them were _you_, were they? None of them had insane murderers writing letters to them. I'm just saying," he finished, "that I think you need to be more careful than before."

Harry wanted to make a flippant comment and brush Ron's fears away like something funny or stupid, but the truth of the matter was that Ron, by some strange quirk of circumstances, was making sense.

"You've been hanging around Hermione too much," he said, with a smile which was rather weaker than he'd intended.

"Oh, what have I done _now_?" Hermione groaned, coming up and dropping gratefully into the free chair at the table. "Haven't you done any work?" she observed, glancing over Harry's essay. "You've spelt that wrong. It's one _l_, not two. And you only need three doses of dragon's blood, not thirty, Ron. _I've_ been working hard all day, and not just on schoolwork," she added cryptically. "I- what's wrong? You look like you've seen a banshee." She glanced from Harry to Ron and back again, her own expression of triumph fading into concern.

Ron glanced at Harry and shrugged, as if to say, you tell her, it's nothing to do with me. Harry felt again the selfish temptation to keep the letter a secret, but again he handed it over, and looked away to the fireplace while Hermione read. A couple of first-years were huddled around the bright glow, and Harry felt a memory tug at the back of his mind, of a name and footsteps on the Map, but he got no further. Hermione was a fast reader, and before he could follow that niggling thought any further she had finished the letter and was staring at Harry in abject horror.

"Oh, _Harry_," she breathed. "Have you told Dumbledore?"

"No! Why does everybody think I should tell Dumbledore? What could he do about it?" Harry snapped in more irritation than he felt.

"Well, the owl obviously knows where he is, doesn't it? Dumbledore could track it back to wherever Lupin is hiding, and with the full moon coming up it's the perfect time, isn't it? Lupin says himself that he won't leave his hiding place for fear of attacking someone in his werewolf form. The Ministry could wait and capture him after the transformation, when he's still weak."

"You," Ron said admiringly, "are a bloody genius, Hermione."

Hermione looked pleased at the praise.

"Why is he so afraid of killing someone as a werewolf?" Harry mused out loud, deliberately changing the subject. "If he's that bad, why would he care?"

"Because he's a raving loony?" Ron suggested, dryly.

"Actually, there's a lot of things that don't make sense about Lupin. I was reading about him in the library." Hermione reached into her overstuffed book-bag and pulled out a roll of parchment written completely over with notes in her neat handwriting. "I was reading about his trial - Lucius Malfoy was there, by the way, which is how Draco must know about it - and you know, there are things which just don't make sense."

"Lot's of things don't make sense around homicidal maniacs," Ron muttered.

"Do you know that nobody actually saw Lupin perform the curse?"

"Apart from a streetful of Muggles, you mean?"

"How would the Muggles know a curse when they see one?" Hermione said dismissively. "Listen to this: _There were two men, and then there were words - I couldn't understand them - and the street - it was like an explosion, like a bomb, only...only...and then the smaller man, he was gone, and the tall man was laughing_. That's from one Muggle. That's not proof."

"Hermione, it says there were words, an explosion, and one less man. It's proof!"

"It doesn't say who said the words, does it? And it doesn't say what happened to Peter Pettigrew's body."

"The finger in the box?"

"Why a finger? Doesn't that seem like a strange thing to have survived when nothing else did?"

"He betrayed my parents and you're trying to clear his name," Harry said suddenly. His tone was carefully blank.

Hermione's face fell. "Harry, I didn't mean..."

"He killed my parents. He killed Pettigrew. I don't know why you have to try and be cleverer than everyone all the time, Hermione. A whole court full of senior wizards and you still think you know best!"

Hermione's eyes were wide and filling with tears. "Harry, I'm sorry, I don't...I didn't mean..."

"Come on, Harry. She didn't mean anything by it," Ron broke in gently.

Harry rubbed at his eyes angrily. He was tired and nothing made sense, yet again. Why couldn't anything ever make sense?

"Okay," he said. "I'm sorry. I'm just - tired."

"Harry, I can't imagine what you must be feeling. I'm really sorry," Hermione said. "But please - please - tell Dumbledore about the letter. Please?"

"I-" Harry didn't want to lie, not to his best friends. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. I'll tell him first thing tomorrow."

Hermione looked doubtful, but wise enough not to push the issue any further. Ron breathed a sigh and looked down at his unfinished homework, which he knew now would never get finished that night. They had enough on their plates. Again.

* * *

AN: Eee! Update in less than six months! Go me. does the dance of updating happiness 

Ahem. Anway, you know my feelings about feedback, so dooo iiiit, dooo iiiiit.


	8. Chapter Seven

Title: Harry Potter and the Werewolf of Azkaban  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, settings or anything else from Harry Potter.  
Warnings: AU

* * *

Chapter Seven

The end of the week found the Harry, Ron and Hermione, plus the older Weasley brothers and Ginny, on Platform 9¾, stamping their feet to keep away the bitter chill. Sirius wasn't there; _must be running late_, Harry thought, _he'll be here in a minute_, but all the same there was heavy dread was in his belly, same as the day when Sirius hadn't come to the Dursleys. That seemed so far away now, although it was only a few months back. So much had changed...

"Harry!" Sirius came bounding through the barrier, grinning broadly, and Harry's heart gave a great thump of pleasure and relief. He let out a sigh he hadn't even realised he'd been holding, and grinned back.

Sirius caught him into a swift, tight hug, obviously not wanting to embarrass his godson in front of his friends, but his eyes were bright and spoke clearly what he didn't show physically. "You okay, mate?" he said softly and affectionately.

"Yeah," Harry said and, for the moment, really felt it. "I'm great."

"You look pale. Big dark circles under your eyes and all. Have you been sleeping properly?"

"Honestly, Sirius, you nag like an old woman," Harry said, in just the tone he knew would placate his godfather.

"And this is the thanks I get," Sirius sighed. "Well, come on then. Hello, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George - in whatever order you actually are - Percy, Ginny. Boys - and girl, sorry Ginny - your Mum's waiting on the other side, and Hermione, your parents are at Grimmauld Place, looking a bit wary, so we'd best get you back quickly." Sirius took control at once, gathering the trio and their luggage and ushering them through the barrier, where Molly was waiting on the other side, looking harassed amid the pre-Christmas crush.

Harry had never been to Grimmauld Place before, although Sirius had mentioned it, usually along with a complaint about how long it had taken to clear the place of his family's Dark magic, or a funny anecdote about this biting teacup or those poisonous candlesticks. Harry wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but the grandness of it took him a little aback: a tall townhouse in central London, and even Harry at thirteen years old knew enough to guess how desirable a place like that would be. He had known that Sirius was rich, of course, but in an abstract sort of way. The reality jarred him oddly.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Sirius joked as he led them into the house. "The most noble and ancient house of Black."

"Wow," said Ron, eloquently. Harry fervently agreed.

Sirius had really gone to town on the decorations, and every surface was thoroughly decked with holly or tinsel that sparkled like the fairy-lights Sirius had hung on the chandeliers. At the end of the hall was an enormous Christmas tree loaded down with every kind of ornament, and with presents strewn underneath in huge mounds. Sirius grinned at their astonished expressions.

"Do you like it? I wanted it to be special. What do you think, Harry?"

Harry said, "Wow."

Sirius slung an arm around his shoulders and laughed, loud and happy. "Oh, we're going to have fun this Christmas, mate."

A house elf slunk into sight, like Dobby but ancient, gnarled, and with malevolence lighting his downcast eyes.

"Kreacher shan't, Kreacher _shan't_ look at him, the filthy traitor," said the elf, resolutely staring at his own feet. "Kreacher _shan't_."

"Kreacher certainly _shall_," Sirius said. "Kreacher, take the guests' luggage up to their rooms."

Kreacher fixed on Sirius a hateful glare. "Kreacher hasn't any choice, oh no, but if he did, oh, if he did."

Harry stared, wondering if the elf even knew that he was speaking aloud, and almost felt sorry for it before Kreacher's gaze shifted to Harry himself.

"And is this the Potter boy? Kreacher sees his scar, yes; Kreacher thinks it is the Potter boy. Muggle-lovers, yes, Muggle-lovers all. Kreacher-"

"Didn't I give you an order?" Sirius interrupted. "Off you go. Come on everyone, come into the living room."

Harry had one last glimpse of Kreacher's face twisted with hate and revulsion as he moved to lug the heavy trunks up the grand, sweeping staircase.

"Sorry about that," Sirius explained. "I can't get rid of him; he goes with the house. Believe me," he added darkly, "I've tried."

In the large living room a fire was merrily blazing, and around it were collected Sirius' other guests, including the Grangers, who looked distinctly uncomfortable, and a few other wizards who Harry had never met before. Hermione moved to give her family a hug, and they looked pleased to see her, and a little relieved. Crookshanks yowled at their feet and leapt into Mr Granger's lap, who glanced uneasily down at the ugly creature.

"Wotcha, Harry," came a voice from close by, and Harry turned to see a pretty young woman with screamingly pink hair and purple eyes holding out her hand. Harry shook it.

"Hello, Tonks," said Sirius from Harry's side. "Harry, this is my cousin, Tonks."

"_Nymphadora_," came another voice, and this time Harry saw an older woman with dark hair and eyes, who reminded him faintly of Sirius. She smiled at Harry. "Her name is Nymphadora, actually. Tonks is our surname."

"Well, wouldn't you go by Tonks?" said Tonks to Harry in a low, conspiratorial tone. Harry grinned.

"I'm Andromeda," said the older woman, carefully ignoring the younger. "Sirius' cousin, and mother to this wretch. It's lovely to meet you at last, Harry." She bent and kissed Harry on the cheek, like family, and then she kissed Sirius on the cheek too. "Sirius, you should have introduced us earlier. I mean, he's practically family."

_Family_, thought Harry, and felt a warmth suffuse his body. _Family_.

And it was like he'd always imagined a family Christmas would be. At the Dursleys', Christmas had been dominated by Dudley's present-unwrapping, which sometimes took half the day. After that, they would go to visit Aunt Marge or other relatives, and Harry would be left behind with strict instructions not to touch Dudley's new things. The one time he had been taken along, he had accidentally turned Dudley's grandfather's hair turn purple after the old man had made a remark about James and Lily Potter, the same shade of purple, incidentally, as Vernon Dursley had turned upon seeing it. At Grimmauld Place, lit by warm candle- and fire-light and by Sirius' boundless joy at having them all there, it was as different as it could be. Even the Grangers appeared to be having a good time, Mr Granger loosening up so far as to enter into a long discussion with Mr Weasley about the various everyday minutiae of the Muggle world, although that might have been due to Sirius' liberal applications of Firewhiskey into their tea.

On Christmas morning, for the first time in his life Harry woke with the fluttery thrill of excited anticipation in his belly. He supposed that this was what Ron and the others felt every year, and he grinned into the darkness as across the room Ron shifted and whispered, "Harry? You awake?"

They weren't the only ones awake - on the landing they met the twins and Ginny, and as they were creeping slowly down the grand staircase Hermione's door creaked open too and she joined the procession.

In the living room a fire was blazing and casting flickering shadows over the incredible mountain of presents that were scattered in heaps and piles about the Christmas tree.

"Wow," said Ron, and Harry was about to agree when Sirius came into the room from the kitchen, looking troubled and yet ridiculous in a voluminous tartan dressing gown and slippers, clutching a mug of steaming something. His eyes were dark and distant, but then he looked up and caught sight of the mob at the doorway, and his face split into a grin.

"Morning chaps," he said brightly, dispelling all his former gloom. "Merry Christmas all! If you can restrain yourselves for a few minutes I'll go wake the lazy lot upstairs, and -" He glanced down at himself. "- change into something a little less ridiculous."

He winked at Harry as he went out of the room and upstairs, and Harry grinned back, but with a faint feeling of unease worming its way through his Christmas excitement. Why had Sirius looked so thoughtful? Was it...could it be Lupin?

But all thought of murderous werewolves were driven from his head at the arrival of the grumbling, weary adults who trudged heavily into the room looking dark-eyed and not at all in the Christmas spirit. Even Tonks was subdued, her hair more pale pink that strident purple.

"Right," Sirius said, taking charge of proceedings and now dressed in jeans and a multicoloured Christmas jumper. "Fred, George, these are yours. Ginny, here's yours..." He went through them all, allocating each a pile of presents until there was only Harry left.

"And these, Harry," said Sirius, barely containing his excitement. "These are yours."

Harry couldn't help but notice that his own pile was considerably larger than everyone else's.

"Really?" he asked, wide-eyed.

Sirius laughed delightedly. "Absolutely positively, Harry. They're all yours," he said, and Harry thought his heart would burst.

There were the usual presents: Mrs Weasley's annual Christmas jumper and the gifts from Ron and Hermione, and he noticed packages from Andromeda and Tonks too, but for the majority of his pile he had only Sirius to thank. It was as if he had gone out and bought gifts for every Christmas that he had ever missed when Harry was growing up, with every birthday thrown in for good measure. Everything he had looked at when they were together in Diagon Alley was somewhere in that pile of packages, everything he had ever expressed interest in or admiration for, until he reached the bottom of the heap and there - resplendent in gold paper - was the obvious shape of a broom.

Harry looked up at Sirius in shock, and Sirius grinned so widely that Harry thought he must be in danger of spontaneous combustion from joy. With trembling hands, and with everyone watching him, he pulled back the paper and gasped in awe as it opened to reveal -

"A _Firebolt_!"

"Wow!"

"A real Firebolt? Wicked!"

"Are you serious?" Harry demanded. "Is this really -?"

"A Firebolt?" Sirius said. "Yep! Best broom in the world. I hear the Irish team are ordering in a set for the World Cup, you know, and if it's good enough for them it's good enough for Gryffindor's youngest seeker in a century, right? You do - you do like it, don't you?"

Harry cast an eye over the broom's polished handle, the neat and perfect twigs, the obvious power in the lines of the thing. "I _love_ it," he said, practically throwing himself at Sirius.

The rest of the day passed in a warm haze of food and constant repetition of the many virtues of the Firebolt. By the evening, Harry could have recited the number of twigs in the broom's tail, he was that intimately acquainted with it, and by the end of the week, even Mr and Mrs Granger could have listed its top speed and braking power, and how long it took to go from 0 to 60.

It was on the last evening of that glorious Christmas week that Harry next thought about Lupin, and what he had decided to talk to Sirius about. Now was his chance: everyone was stuffed in armchairs, dozing in front of the fire, too bloated to move and listening to some witch croon over the wireless, and Sirius was a little way off in the shadows.

Harry got up silently and moved to sit next to his godfather. Sirius smiled as he approached.

"Had a good week?" he asked, as he had asked nearly every day, and Harry answered as usual, "It's been the best week ever."

"I'm glad," Sirius grinned.

Stomach churning, Harry said, "Have you heard anything about Lupin?"

"Not a thing," Sirius replied. "It's like he disappeared. Nobody knows where he is. Don't worry though. We'll get him."

Harry decided to bite the bullet. "Sirius," he began unsteadily, then swallowed and went on, "you knew Lupin, didn't you?

"What?" Sirius affected an air of puzzlement. "Who gave you that idea?"

"Hermione and Ron overheard you in the Three Broomsticks, on the day of the Hogsmeade visit."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. Of course-"

"_Sirius_. Please. I want to know the truth."

Sirius' face darkened. He gave a great sigh and closed his eyes, almost as though he was in pain. When he opened them again, they were too dark and shone in the firelight.

"I knew Remus Lupin. He was one of my best friends. It was me, your dad, Peter Pettigrew, and Remus Lupin. The Marauders, we used to call ourselves." Sirius paused a moment, and Harry thought with a jolt of the Marauder's Map. It had belonged to his father! But there were other things to think of right now.

"Lupin killed my parents, didn't he Sirius?"

Sirius said, "Yes. In a way."

"_In a way_? He sold them out to Voldemort!"

"Keep your voice down!" Sirius said a bit sharply, as Molly Weasley turned to look over at them. "Sorry, Harry, it's just...I didn't want this to get around so much. I'm - I'm ashamed of what I did back then. Because if it wasn't for me, Remus wouldn't have had a chance to betray your parents."

Harry felt as though someone had thrown cold water over him. He felt it trickle in icy shivers down his spine. "What?"

"Did Hermione tell you about the Fidelius Charm?"

"Yeah, but- "

"Well, your mum and dad asked me to be their Secret-Keeper. But I said that was too obvious, that the first person Voldemort would go after was James' bets friend. So I said they should use Remus, because nobody would ever think that they would trust a werewolf with their secret, not in those dark times."

"But you trusted him, didn't you? Even though he was a werewolf?"

"I would have trusted him with my life. I thought I knew him." Sirius chuckled darkly. "How wrong could I have been? He must have trotted off to Voldemort not five minutes after the Charm. It makes me sick just thinking about it!"

"Sirius, why didn't you tell me? Didn't you think I had a right to know?"

"I wanted to protect you, Harry."

"From what, though? From finding out about what you'd done?" Harry's voice was an angry whisper.

Sirius drew a hand across his eyes, looking weary and defeated. "Harry, Harry please. What I did back then tortures me. Every day I think if only I'd noticed something, if only I'd done this or that differently you parents might still be alive."

Harry swallowed convulsively against the lump that rose in his throat. "Yeah, well, you can't, can you? Bring them back. So it doesn't matter, does it?"

"Please, Harry, don't think too badly of me after this. I should have told you, I know that. But I couldn't. Please understand."

Harry nodded numbly. "I think I'm going to go to bed."

"Alright," Sirius said, voice trembling. "Whatever you want. I'll see you in the morning, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry said, voice blank, and left the room.

In his room he lay down fully clothed on his bed and almost at once fell into sleep and dark, confused dreams of Lupin and Sirius and his parents, and then a _scream and green light and pain in his scar and_ -

He snapped awake, panting for breath. His watch told him that it was still only ten o'clock, and Ron's bed was empty. He thought of them all downstairs. Was Sirius there too, smiling and laughing and joking as if nothing had happened? Harry rolled over and buried his face in his pillow, head pounding.

After a few minutes, he realised that the pounding in his head was not in his head at all, but coming from the window, where as he raised his head he saw Pigwidgeon banging his small head against the window frame. Harry's heart sank - he was in no mood for Lupin tonight. All the same, though, someone was going to hear that noise before long, so Harry got up and let the tiny owl in. It let out a muffled hoot around the envelope it carried and fluttered its wings. From her cage, Hedwig gave it a disdainful glance and turned her back. Harry took the letter and stole one of Hedwig's treats to give to the exhausted little bird. Hedwig ruffled her feathers angrily but made no audible protest and went back to sleep.

Lupin's handwriting was faint and spidery this time. Harry spared a thought to imagine him now, sleeping rough in the snow and the freezing cold, but the stony anger in his belly would admit no pity. He had half a mind to rip the letter up and throw it out of the window, but the gesture would be lost on a man Merlin-knew-how-many miles away, and besides, behind his anger lurked a glimmer of curiosity. He opened it.

There was a short note in the same weak hand, which read:

_Merry Christmas, Harry,_

_I hope you're happy and well, as I'm sure you are with Sirius there. I just wanted to send you my greetings and a little gift, which is all I have to give you._

_Yours,_

_Remus_

This note was wrapped around a photograph. Harry's stomach jolted as he regarded it: his father, young and untidy and smiling, with his arm slung over the shoulders of a short, plump boy with fair curly hair who Harry thought must be Peter Pettigrew. Pettigrew had his arm slung over the shoulders of a young and extremely handsome Sirius, who beamed lazily at the camera and winked lecherously every so often, and his arm was over the shoulder of a thin, pale boy with three scars raked across his face, but who smiled happily nonetheless. _Lupin_. They all looked so happy. No wonder Sirius had trusted Lupin. They looked like nothing could come between them, the best of friends, friends for life.

There was a sudden knock at his door. Harry started and hastily shoved the picture and letter under his pillow.

"Harry, you awake?" It was Sirius. Harry debated staying silent, but called out instead, "Yes, I'm up." He shooed Pigwidgeon hurriedly back out of the window and shut it firmly.

"Can I come in?"

"Yes."

Sirius opened the door and entered hesitantly; as if afraid that Harry would change his mind and order him to leave. "I wanted to give you something," he said.

Harry shifted and made a space for Sirius to sit next to him on the bed, feeling very conscious of the letter and picture stuffed under beneath the pillow. In his hands, Sirius held a little package, which he gave to Harry.

Harry turned it over a few times. "What is it?"

"Open it," was all Sirius would say.

Harry pulled back the paper and revealed a small, dirty old mirror. He lifted it free of the wrappings and held it up; turning it this way and that to try and find some significance in it, but it just looked like an old square mirror. He looked at Sirius expectantly, and Sirius pulled something from his pocket which, Harry saw, was another little mirror, the very twin of the one Harry held.

"Your dad and me used to use these when we were in separate detentions," Sirius began. "It's a two-way mirror. If you ever need me, just say my name into it and you'll appear in my mirror, and I'll appear in yours. Which is my roundabout, convoluted way of saying Harry, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Lupin, and if there's anything you ever want to ask me ever again, I am always here and I will always answer."

There was another lump in Harry's throat now, but it wasn't from anger. He fingered the little mirror and nodded mutely.

"So, we're okay?" Sirius asked timidly.

"I think we are," said Harry, offering his godfather a watery smile. "Don't you?"

Sirius put an arm around his godson's shoulders in a way that reminded Harry painfully of the hidden photograph. "I think we are, mate. Now, d'you want to come downstairs and sing carols and drink my lovely mulled wine, or do you want to skulk about here in the dark a bit more?"

"Hmm," said Harry. "That's a tough one. I know what you're like with cooking."

"Oi, matey, I'll have you know that I am a veritable gourmet when it comes to alcoholic drinks. That, and Molly did most of it."

Smiling and laughing and teasing, they made their way downstairs.

* * *

A/N: Whee, update at last! Hope you enjoyed. As usual, feedback is always given a godd home, and is loved and cherished as my own regardless of content, so if you've any hanging around please feel free to toss it my way.

Also, just to legally save my behind, Sirius' explanation of the mirror is taken almost verbatim from the book. I lay no claim to it whatsoever, it is the property of JK Rowling, as is everything else in this story.


	9. Chapter Eight

Title: Harry Potter and the Werewolf of Azkaban  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, settings or anything else from Harry Potter.  
Warnings: AU

* * *

**Chapter** **Eight**

It was hard to say goodbye to Sirius after the Christmas holidays had ended, and hard to settle back into the rhythm of the school day. He found his attention drifting far oftener than it was focused on whatever the teacher was droning on about. The only lesson in which he paid close attention was Defence Against the Dark Arts, and then only because he didn't want to miss any tidbits of information Professor Fell might drop about Lupin. He was always disappointed, though: she seemed to have been warned off the subject of werewolves entirely, and though her lessons were always interesting he found himself unable to drum up much enthusiasm for Kelpies or Hinkypunks.

He hadn't gone to Dumbledore with the picture, or the two letters that he kept hidden at the very bottom of his school trunk.

He'd meant to, even got so far as to stand outside the office door and run through two or three of the more popular Muggle sweets before he realised that he didn't want to go to Dumbledore. Was it misplaced loyalty? An overdeveloped hero-complex? Whatever it was, it told him to keep the letters and picture to himself. After all, what could Lupin possibly do to Harry when he was in school? Dumbledore didn't have to know about particular dangers in order to protect him; surely it was enough to be inside Hogwarts.

So it was that Harry would often find himself waking in the middle of the night to hunt through the mess of his trunk, pulling out the picture; the faded, dog-eared picture. He would watch it for hours while his father smiled and waved, his hair messy and being ruffled into further spikes by Sirius, but mostly he would study the thin, scarred face of the young Remus Lupin. He would try to detect in the pale face some hint of what he would become: some edge to his quiet smile, some spark in his eyes. There was never anything; Remus Lupin at that age was as innocent as any of them.

It was when he was studying the picture one night that there came a soft tapping at the window. Harry knew immediately what it would be, and he was right: little Pigwidgeon was shivering on the outside cill, fluttering his tiny wings. This time Harry knew better than to let him in, and when he went to open the window he made sure that he gripped the miniature owl tightly and took the letter from him there before whispering, "Go on, go to the Owlery." Pigwidgeon gave him a baleful glance but flapped off anyway, and Harry shut the window firmly.

"Wassat?" came a sleepy voice from the dormitory. "Harry? Wassamarrer?" It was Dean, lifting his head off the pillow and peering at Harry through sleep-slitted eyes.

"Nothing. I...needed some fresh air, that's all. Go back to sleep."

"Mmph," said Dean, flopping back into his blankets. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and padded back to bed.

He could see by the dim moonlight that Lupin's writing was as thin and weak as it had been at Christmas. _Harry Potter, Hogwarts_ was so spindly that Harry could barely read it.

_Harry,_

_I want to meet you again. In Hogsmeade. You know you've got nothing to fear from me, Harry. You know that. When you're in Hogsmeade next, I'll be waiting for you in the place you last saw me._

_Please, Harry, I have to tell you something. It's very important._

_Remus Lupin_

Harry's heart beat hard as he read the letter. _This isn't happening, this isn't happening_. Why wouldn't Lupin leave him alone? Why would he keep sending letters, keep being polite and kind, keep acting for all the world like an innocent man when he'd betrayed Harry's parents, murdered thirteen people and was coming after Harry? He didn't write like a madman, hadn't acted like a madman. If Harry had not known about the murders, he would have thought him perfectly normal.

There had to be something more. Harry looked again at the picture, at the smiling boys. James Potter, messy-haired and smiling; Peter Pettigrew, golden-haired and chubby; Sirius Black, handsome and carefree; Remus Lupin, thin and scarred, but happy. There was more to it, there had to be. There had to be.

And almost before he knew it he was letters-in-hand down the corridor outside the Library, padding along under his father's cloak, the one that Sirius had handed to him at the station the first time he stepped onto the Hogwarts Express. He'd winked, and said, "I imagine you'll have just as much fun with this as your dad did." Guilt churned inside him as he remembered that, thinking what Sirius would say if he knew that his godson was doubting the convicted murderer and betrayer of his parents, Sirius' best friends.

Inside the Library, Harry began to wish he'd spent more time over his years at Hogwarts learning where the different kinds of books were kept. His usual research generally had nothing to do with schoolwork. He guessed, and began searching. There were plenty of books on werewolves, and many of them had chapters entirely devoted to Remus Lupin, citing him as an example of the vicious nature of all werewolves, and as proof of the need for stricter and stricter methods for their control - Harry was reminded of the day in Professor Fell's class - but none of them seemed to give even the briefest thought as to whether, perhaps, he might not be guilty. Harry was beginning to feel as though he was going mad to even think of the possibility of it when he discovered the book that Hermione had been talking about the night he'd snapped at her, the transcript of the court case involving Lupin.

He read through is rapidly - it wasn't long, the case was open-and-shut, it seemed. Harry found nothing of interest until the very end. There was a note, apparently written on as an afterthought by the stenographer - _Lupin turns to public gallery, mouths a word - worm-something, wormtail?_

Wormtail?

Harry looked at the picture in his hand, then turned it over. In pencil so faded the words were difficult to make out was written, 'Prongs, Wormtail, Padfoot, Moony'. He'd noticed the words before, and taken them as evidence of Lupin's madness, because they were nothing but nonsense to Harry. But what if they meant something?

And then another stab of inspiration sliced through Harry's skull: the Map, and Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. You didn't need to be Hermione to work it out now: they were _nicknames_. Moony - that one, at least, was obvious: the moon, and Lupin a werewolf. That meant the names were in order on the photograph, and that would make Wormtail Peter Pettigrew. Harry couldn't pretend to know what the other nicknames meant, but he felt like he'd suddenly been offered a revelation. Why would Lupin mouth 'Wormtail' to someone in the public gallery, when it was the name of a man he'd just murdered? It didn't make sense.

He found himself wondering when the next Hogsmeade weekend was.

* * *

Harry made it through the weeks leading up to the Hogsmeade weekend without being forced by Hermione to go to Dumbledore, or having to give up his new secret. Ron and Hermione suspected, he thought, from his distraction and the way he would often drift off into daydreams that he was loathe to explain when they shook him to attention again. 

"Honestly, Harry," said Hermione one day, drenched in potion that Harry had caused to explode with an ill-timed ingredient, "the sooner they catch Lupin the better. You're in a world of your own these days."

"Are you alright, mate?" Ron asked him, on finding him awake at the window of their dormitory in the middle of the night.

"Oh, I'm fine," Harry said on both of these occasions, and countless others.

On the chilly, pale morning of the Hogsmeade visit he was even more distracted than ever. He wandered along in a kind of world of his own. Ron was saying something about Scabbers, and the pet shop in Hogsmeade. Harry found himself straying away from Hermione and Ron because he couldn't keep his mind even on walking with them. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ron and Hermione giving each other concerned looks. Harry didn't care; all he could think about was Lupin waiting for him by the Shack. He was so engrossed in it that managed to crash straight into Draco Malfoy, tripping over his feet and bringing them both down into a tangle on the hard ground.

"Potter!" Draco snarled, hitting out at Harry as he tried to free himself. "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

"I didn't do it on purpose," Harry spat back, annoyed at himself but mainly at Draco. "If you hadn't have been in my way it wouldn't have happened."

"If you're so stupid you can't even walk in a straight line I don't see why I'm to blame for it. Crabbe! Goyle!" The two bigger boys lumbered over, kicking Harry ruthlessly out of the way and hauling Draco to his feet. Malfoy brushed ineffectually at the mud spattered over his expensive robes and glowered at Harry. "You'll pay for that," he warned.

"What are you going to do," said Ron, reaching them at last, "fall on him?" Hermione reached down and pulled Harry up.

"Oh, here we go, Potter's loyal minions to the rescue. You're all pathetic," sneered Malfoy. "I hope Lupin rips you to shreds when he finds you. Or," he added with a sly grin, "when you find him, eh, Potter?"

"I don't know what you're on about," said Harry, heart thudding. "You're mental. Isn't it you who'd be more likely to go looking for Lupin? Like father like son, isn't it?"

"You leave my father out of it," Draco snarled. "At least I've got one."

Only Professor McGonagall's sudden presence saved Malfoy from another and rather more painful encounter with the ground. She appeared out of nowhere, it seemed, just in time to catch Harry lurch forward with Ron and Hermione each clinging to one of his arms to try and hold him back, and Draco shrinking back in fear behind Crabbe and Goyle.

"Potter!" she snapped. "What is going on here?"

"He's dangerous," Draco said. "He just attacked me!"

"He insulted Harry's father," Hermione countered, glaring at Malfoy. "And he-"

"I don't care!" McGonagall held up her hand for silence. "This feud is petty and ridiculous, and if you cannot control yourselves long enough to walk to Hogsmeade, then I think it will be best if neither of you are allowed the privilege. Do I make myself clear, Mr Malfoy? Mr Potter?"

Harry swallowed and nodded glumly. Ron and Hermione warily let go of his arms, staying close. Draco, flanked protectively by Crabbe and Goyle, nodded too, albeit reluctantly.

"Well then," McGonagall, giving the two a final disdainful glare. "Hurry along."

Harry was glad to oblige, stamping along furiously so that Ron and Hermione had a hard job to keep up with him. By the time they reached Hogsmeade town, both were panting with the exertion. Harry seemed to be running on nothing but anger and anticipation; he was barely even breathing quickly.

"I've got to go somewhere," he said, and made to walk away. Ron grabbed his arm.

"No, you don't," he said, pulling Harry in the opposite direction. "You're going to tell us what's going on."

"Nothing's going on," Harry insisted, trying to twist away, but it was no use, Hermione caught his other arm and between them they dragged him into the Three Broomsticks, sitting him forcibly down and setting a Butterbeer in front of him.

"Now," said Hermione, slamming the bottle down on the table. "I've bought you a drink and it'll be rude to leave. Talk."

"There's nothing to say," said Harry, tracing the woodgrain of the table because he was so reluctant to meet his friends' eyes.

"Yeah, and Malfoy's my new best friend," Ron snorted. "C'mon, mate. We all know there's something going on. Tell us."

Harry sat in silence for a few moments longer, staring at the slender neck of the Butterbeer bottle, though he wasn't really seeing it. At last, he said,

"I'm meeting Lupin today."

He saw Ron's mouth drop open and Hermione slump back against her seat, her eyes closed in exasperation.

"Oh, _Harry_," she sighed. "How can you?"

"Look, it's just that-"

"Harry. Listen." Ron made Harry look at him. "Lupin is barking. He's probably convincing, but he's insane. He's trying to kill you, and you're going to just walk up to him and say, Hello Mr Lupin, nice day isn't it?"

"It's not going to be like that, it's-"

"Why are you putting yourself in such danger?" Hermione gripped his shoulder tightly. "Lupin killed thirteen people. He betrayed your parents. Why?"

Harry pulled the picture out of his pocket, where he had kept it safely hidden until then. "Look at this. Sirius gave it to me at Christmas." He put it on the table, so that they could all see it.

"Is that your dad?" said Ron, peering at the waving figures. "And is that Sirius?"

"Yeah, and the one between them is Pettigrew. And the one on the end is -"

"Lupin," Hermione breathed. She touched the tip of a finger to the corner of the photo, just above Lupin's head. He looked up briefly and smiled; she pulled sharply away.

"That's right. Now, does he look like a man who would betray the other three people in the photo?"

"Harry, this was taken a long time ago..."

"Yes, but even still..." Harry trailed off, because how could he justify his gut feeling to Hermione when he couldn't even justify it to himself? "D'you remember the night I shouted at you because you questioned Lupin's trial? Well, what if you're right, Hermione?"

"Harry," she said, shaking her head. "You were right about that. There was a courtroom - a Ministry! - full of wizards much older and much - yes, Ron, I admit it -much cleverer than me."

Harry sighed. "Lupin's a werewolf, right? And what does the wizarding world feel about werewolves, Ron?"

Ron looked sheepishly away.

"Exactly. Now, what if Lupin was just the most convenient suspect, and they knew he was a werewolf, and that was enough to put him away?"

"You said before," Ron began, slowly, "that you'd kill Lupin if you ever saw him again. What's changed."

Harry rubbed at his eyes behind their glasses. "I don't know. I just...I have this..."

He trailed off because the pub had gone suddenly and utterly silent, the atmosphere instantly from amiable to icy. For one awful, stomach-wrenching moment, Harry felt sure that a Dementor had just glided in, but when no freezing blackness engulfed him he looked first at Ron and Hermione, who seemed just as confused as himself, and then around the bar for the cause of the silence. All he could see was a man at the bar, quite respectable looking, if a little shabby. Harry peered closer. What was wrong with the man?

Behind the counter, Madam Rosmerta was not smiling anymore. She had stepped back from the bar, a strange half-fear, half-loathing on her face. The man shifted uncomfortably.

"A Butterbeer, please," he asked, in a voice that was soft and timid, shaking a little.

"I don't think so," said Madam Rosmerta, with none of her usual friendliness.

"Please," the man said. "I am not a criminal. I haven't done anything wrong."

Somewhere in the bar, a person snorted in derision.

"I can't serve you," Madam Rosmerta said, gesturing to something on the man's jacket. "You want the Hog's Head, over the road."

The man reached up convulsively to touch the spot Madam Rosmerta had pointed to. Harry strained to see what it was; a badge of some kind? "There's no law that says you can't serve me. Please..."

"No, but there is a law saying that I can serve whoever I like, and I'm telling you that I don't serve your kind. Please leave."

The man bowed his head, hands dropping to rest on the bar as if for support. "It isn't my fault. I haven't done anything wrong. Why do you hate us?"

Hagrid was at the man's side then, with one enormous hand firmly gripping the man's shoulder, guiding him towards the door.

"I think yeh'd better be on yer way, mate," he said, forcefully. The man allowed himself to be steered out, meekly avoiding the glares of the other patrons. Only once he was gone, and Hagrid seated again, did the chatter slowly return.

Hermione began, a little shakily, "Did you see what was on his jacket?"

The others shook their heads.

"It was a moon," she said, looking down at the picture of Lupin. "It was a full moon." She looked at Ron. He nodded.

"A werewolf," he confirmed.

"That was awful," Hermione said, her voice thick. "It was so cruel. Even Hagrid was so awful."

"Yeah, but werewolves are, well, they're Dark Creatures," Ron explained. "You don't understand what it's like for wizards, neither of you do. All the werewolves joined You Know Who."

"Is it any wonder?" Hermione snapped back.

Harry said, "Can we get back to Lupin, please?" He was in no mood for more bickering. "D'you see what I mean, now?"

Hermione bit her lip, as if she half-agreed but didn't want to admit it. Ron just stared at Lupin's young, smiling face.

"I just have this feeling," Harry tried. "I feel like I have to go and see him."

Ron nodded at last. "We'll go with you."

"No."

"You're not going on your own. That's final."

"You're not coming with me and _that's_ final, Ron."

Ron had opened his mouth to protest when Hermione cut him off: "Okay."

Harry looked at her in surprise. "What?"

"I said, okay. Okay. Go."

"Hermione-" Ron began, but she stopped him again. Harry looked at the two of them, not sure whether to feel grateful or guilty. In the end he decided that it didn't matter. He stood up, and they watched him. Hermione looked like she had tears in her eyes, and Ron looked deeply unhappy, but neither of them made any more attempt to stop him.

"I-" Harry said, then stopped. He just gave them a little smile and walked out, and didn't stop walking until he was standing in front of the Shack.

There were butterflies in his stomach. Butterflies made of lead, he thought, with rotars instead of wings. It was worse than facing the basilisk, he thought. This was no monster, not really: it was a man. Magic couldn't help him.

"Harry?" Lupin. Harry turned to face him, and found him even shabbier and thinner than before, like a skeleton draped in rags. Trying to trace a resemblance between this pitiful figure and the boy in the picture was impossible. That boy didn't exist any more. Thinking that, Harry felt a hot stab of fear in his gut that not even Lupin's good-natured if grotesque smile could relieve.

"You haven't any food, have you?" Lupin asked. He was standing only a little way away from Harry, and his voice barely carried over the distance.

"No," said Harry, and his voice sounded tight and strained, even to him. "I'm sorry."

"I didn't expect anything else," Lupin said. "Though one does hope...rats aren't very appetising, you know."

"No."

"Even if," Lupin went on, more to himself than to Harry, it seemed, "they acquire a certain ironic flavour." He laughed dryly, a rough sound. Harry only watched him.

"Why did you give that picture to me?" he said at last.

"I wanted you to have it."

"Why?"

"Because that was a good time. It was a happy time, for all of us. I wanted you to see that." He looked down. "Even if what came after was so awful, we were happy then."

"You made the Map, didn't you?"

"Yes." Lupin smiled. "Sirius and your father were so gifted at mischief, they wanted to pass it on down for the next generation. Did it work?"

Harry found his lips curling into a smile in spite of himself. "Yes," he said. "Definitely."

"I am glad," Lupin said. A short silence fell between them, in which they regarded each other closely.

"You are so like your father," Lupin said at last. "And your mother. And even like Sirius. In character, I mean. Although you're quite as handsome as he was at your age."

"Last time you were here," Harry said, ignoring Lupin's change of topic, "you said that you didn't understand what had happened to you or my parents, but that you were going to find out. Did you?"

Lupin came a little closer, and Harry felt the urge to step back but didn't. "I did," he said. "Harry, it's a wonderful thing: I am innocent. I promise you, Harry, I am - what's that?"

Lupin looked away sharply, turning this way and that like a startled animal scenting its predator. Harry's heart hammered thick and fast in his chest, so fast that he felt sick with it.

"What's happening?" he said, or started to, because he was cut off by the streak of red light that sliced past Lupin, missing him by the barest of inches, and the accompanying cry of _Stupefy!_

"Did you tell anyone?" Lupin cried, a look of wild terror on his face, distorting it horribly.

"No!" Harry shouted back. "I didn't! I..." But he had. Ron and Hermione.

More beams of red light began to arrow from the bushes, and then came the people behind them: McGonagall for one, and others that Harry didn't recognise.

"No!" cried Lupin, and he grabbed Harry's shoulder tightly. "I need to explain to you!"

Harry wriggled desperately, but Lupin was pulling out a wand from his pocket. Harry thought, with stunning irrelevance, _where did he get that?_

"Stop!" McGonagall was shrieking, and the wizards did. They stood in a wide arc around Harry and Lupin, wands at the ready.

"Drop your wand, werewolf!" shouted one of them, a tall, black, powerful looking man. His voice was deep and echoed.

"Harry," Lupin whispered desperately. "I'm so sorry, but I need to tell you this. I need you to know this."

"Let me _go_," Harry spat, pulling at Lupin's skeletal fingers clasped on his shoulder, but though they were thin and brittle-looking, they were strong. He couldn't make them shift.

"Harry," came McGonagall's voice, high and strained. "Don't move. You'll be alright."

"You will be alright, Harry," Lupin echoed, softer. "I won't hurt you, I promise. I just need to talk to you." He raised the wand, and said something, and Harry felt only a heavy pressure against his back before the world blacked out around him. It was dark for a split instant, and then he opened his eyes. They weren't outside the Shrieking Shack anymore.

Lupin had relaxed his grip, and Harry jerked himself away, falling backwards onto something that gave a loud "Oof!" as it cushioned his fall. He rolled over, and found himself staring at Ron.

"What the-?"

"Where are we?"

"We're inside the Shrieking Shack," said Lupin. He held out his hands, offering to help the boys to their feet, but they just shuffled away from him. He looked crestfallen, but nodded. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean for it to turn out like this."

* * *

**A/N**: Okay, people, stick with me. We're on the home stretch now: there are two chapters left, and I have them written. One will be posted next week, the other the week after, and then it's all over!

As always, leave me feedback on what you liked, what you didn't, what you ate for lunch today. Okay, maybe not, but you catch my drift. g


	10. Chapter Nine

Title: Harry Potter and the Werewolf of Azkaban  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, settings or anything else from Harry Potter.  
Warnings: AU

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

Harry picked himself up off the floor, standing between Lupin and Ron, who still lay winded in the thick dust that was like a drab carpet on every surface Harry could see.

"Please," he said. "Let us go."

"I _can't_," Lupin replied. "I need to tell you what happened."

"Well tell me, then," Harry shouted. "You keep saying you will, and you never say anything."

"Don't shout, please," Lupin said, wincing. "I will tell you. I will. Please, be patient with me. It's been so long."

Harry looked around. So this was the famous Shrieking Shack? Caked with dust and falling to pieces. Bits of furniture were strewn around, missing great chunks like bite-marks. In places, even the walls were wrecked, with holes in the plaster right down to the splintered wood that held up the structure, as if some huge _thing_ had crashed into them with vicious force. The whole building creaked ominously, moving slightly at each turn of the wind with little sighs of falling plaster that added to the thick grey dust-layer

Harry said, "You came here when you were at Hogwarts."

"Yes," said Lupin. "At every full moon. My howls caused the villagers to think the place was haunted. That was good. I didn't want anyone to be hurt when I was...changed."

"Dumbledore let you into Hogwarts. Why?"

"Because Dumbledore is a great wizard, and a great man. He knows the price of segregation."

Behind Harry, Ron snorted, heaving himself up to his feet. Harry looked at him, and saw he was pale and trembling slightly, clutching an arm to his chest. "That worked out well, didn't it?"

Lupin seemed to ignore the comment, but he nodded at Ron's cradled arm and said, "Let me help you with that." He reached out but Ron shrank back, and Harry spread his arms out like a shield.

"You don't touch either of us," he said. "Until you can prove you're not dangerous."

Lupin let his own arm fall back down to his side, clutching his hand into a fist there. The other hand opened, letting the tightly held wand clatter onto the floor. He sighed, long and low, then took a deep breath, like a diver readying himself for the plunge. He opened his mouth to speak, and-

"Remus."

Lupin looked up, his eyes as wide as if he had been stunned. "Sirius."

"That's right." It was Sirius, at the door. Harry felt a fierce rush of relief at the sight of him.

His godfather stepped into the room, wand raised, looking more menacing than anyone Harry had ever seen. Lupin seemed to wilt at the sight of him.

"Sirius," he whispered.

"I knew it would be me who would get you, in the end," Sirius snarled. His voice was low and dangerous, brimming with hatred. It sent shivers the length of Harry's spine. "I knew it would be me. I wanted to have you all to myself, just for a little while." He reached forward with the wand, holding it with the same deadly intent that Harry had seen people hold guns in Muggle films.

"Sirius!" Lupin was begging now. "Sirius, please! Please listen to me! For James' sake, Sirius, for...for Harry's sake-"

"Harry!" Sirius wheeled on the gaunt figure of his former friend. "What do you have to do with Harry. _You_ are the reason James and Lily are dead, Remus. _You_. So you don't talk about Harry. You've got nothing to do with Harry."

"I didn't kill them."

"Liar."

"_I didn't kill them!_" Lupin shouted, his voice rasping and desperate, hovering dangerously on the edge.

"Oh? Or the thirteen Muggles and Peter either, I imagine? So, what, the streetful of Muggles were just hallucinating, were they?" Sirius sneered.

"Peter." Lupin laughed softly in a way that sent icy shivers down Harry's spine. "Peter. Clever, _clever_ Peter." He seemed to be talking to himself rather than to Sirius.

"Wasn't clever enough to spot you, though, was he?" snarled Sirius. "None of us were," he added in a lower, angrier tone.

"Peter Pettigrew and his finger in a box. But where's the rest of poor Peter Pettigrew?" Lupin was still laughing, and Harry shrank back from the new manic gleam that lit his hollow eyes. "Poor Peter. Poor _Wormtail_." Lupin raised a finger, pointed it directly at Ron. "Hello, Peter."

"He's barmy," Ron said. "He thinks I'm Pettigrew."

"I tried to warn you, Sirius. I did try. But you didn't listen. You didn't listen like you never listened to anything that you didn't want to, and I paid the price for it. But I'm going to put it right now." Lupin pointed still at Ron.

"If you want them, you'll have to come through me," Sirius said, making sure that both of the children were safely behind him.

"Not Ron," Harry said, with comprehension dawning. "Sirius, he's not looking at Ron, he's looking at-"

"Scabbers!" Ron cried as the rat burst form out of his pocket. He clutched at the long tail as it wriggled away, but Scabbers broke free and scurried for the door. It was in vain, though: Lupin's heavy boot came crashing down on his tail and he squealed shrilly in animal torment.

"You're madder than they imagined," said Sirius. "You really think that rat is Peter?"

"I wonder now," Lupin mused, "how we never suspected him before." He reached down and picked up Scabbers by his tail, dangling him in the air like a prize. "After all, he always _was_ a rat. I'll never know how you managed it, Peter," he said to the wriggling creature. "You, of all people."

"I've had just about enough of this," Sirius snorted, advancing on Lupin with wand outstretched. "We're going to go now, and I'm going to give you up to the Dementors, and then I can forget about you."

"Dementors..." Lupin repeated the word, his eyes dark with terror. "No, Sirius, I can prove it. I can prove it, I really can. It _is_ Peter, Sirius. Padfo-"

"Don't you call me that!" Sirius' voice was thick with menace. "Don't you ever call me that again. You killed Padfoot when you killed Prongs and Wormtail. Now for Merlin's sake just put the bloody rat down."

"I can prove it!"

"Sirius," Harry said. "Sirius, I think...I think he's telling the truth."

"Remus was always an excellent liar, weren't you, Remus? You managed to keep the fact that you were a werewolf quite a secret, didn't you?"

"Please, please-"

"Come on, Remus. Drop the rat."

Lupin looked utterly defeated. The fight seemed to go out of him in one small, broken sigh, and his shoulders stooped and his head hung. He held out the rat to Sirius with one hand and spread the other peaceably. Sirius stepped forward, hand out to take Scabbers, and then all hell broke loose.

Hermione burst in first, joined by Severus Snape. In unison they shouted '_Expelliarmus_' - but not at Lupin. With an almighty _crack_ Sirius flew across the room, hitting the wall with a thunk and dropping to the floor. He didn't move.

"Sirius!" Harry shouted, bolting to his fallen godfather's side. Sirius groaned and rolled sluggishly over, glaring at Hermione and Snape.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" he growled.

"Stopping you from making a mistake even more idiotic than usual, Black," was Snape's reply.

"I should have known you'd be in league with _him_," said Sirius. "Birds of a feather, and all that."

"I would suggest that you keep quiet until you understand what is really going on," Snape drawled imperiously, bending to retrieve Sirius' wand.

"Hermione?" Ron said. "Can somebody please explain to me _what_ is going on?"

"Ron, Scabbers _isn't_ really a rat," Hermione explained breathlessly. "He's Peter Pettigrew."

There was a pause.

"You're all bloody mad," Ron decided, slumping to the floor. "You're all completely off it. He's a _convicted killer_, Hermione."

"I didn't kill them," Lupin said again, his voice small and tear-thick. Harry thought that if he hadn't been mad before, this was enough to drive anyone to it. He was beginning to feel a little unbalanced himself.

"Oh do be quiet, Lupin," said Snape. "You always were insufferable."

At that, Lupin seemed to collect himself. He straightened up and, still holding the shrieking, writhing rat, turned to Harry, his eyes wide and bright.

"Harry, did you ever learn what was the biggest piece they ever found of Peter Pettigrew?"

"His finger," said Harry automatically. "They put it in a box and gave it to his parents."

"Ron," Lupin said. "How many toes does your Scabbers have?"

"He's missing one," Ron answered, slowly and warily, glancing all the time between Snape and Sirius.

"How did he lose it?"

"What? I dunno, he's always had nine toes."

"Always? How long have you had him?"

"Thir-thirteen years."

"How many years ago did Peter Pettigrew die, Sirius?"

"You can't be serious," Sirius snorted.

"Thirteen," Harry whispered. "Peter Pettigrew died thirteen years ago."

Lupin nodded and smiled. "Severus, say _Morphus_, and point your wand at Scabbers."

Snape did so, and nothing happened. Sirius snorted again, but Lupin only shook his head gently, like a schoolteacher correcting a pupil.

"It's more of a jab," he explained. "Try it again."

Snape glowered, but tried the spell again. A flash of blue light exploded from the end of his wand, covering the rat, who squealed and squirmed as if in agony.

"Scabbers!" Ron cried, getting to his feet again, but stopped in shock and horror as he watched the spell do its work.

Scabbers was growing, twisting in a way that was hideous to see, his skin stretching, losing its fur; the delicate rodent bones snapping and reshaping themselves into the form of a human being, and when the spell finished a man had taken the place of the rat.

"Hello, Peter," said Lupin pleasantly. "Had a nice thirteen years?"

"Oh...oh, R-Remus, hello." Peter squirmed, blinking his little watery eyes and wringing his hands. Harry's stomach churned in revulsion. "My...my old friend."

"Peter?" said Sirius, who was dragging himself upright, looking dazed.

Pettigrew looked devastated, but tried valiantly to keep his smile. "S-Sirius, oh, my friend! My good, good friend."

"I can't believe this," said Sirius. "I can't...it's impossible."

"It's true," said Hermione, who looked sick to her stomach.

"Sirius!" Peter grinned desperately in an approximation of friendship. "Sirius, he's mad. You can't...I mean, you can't..."

"My, that's a nasty scar you've got there, Peter," Lupin breezed, grabbing Pettigrew's hand and holding it up so that they could all see the missing index finger. "Cut yourself, did you?"

"I was trying to escape you," Peter insisted, squirming out of reach. "You tried to kill me, just like you killed all those Muggles! I tried to stop him," he went on, turning to Sirius and then to the rest of them. "But he was too strong for me, I...I had to escape, and to hide, yes! To hide! For my life!"

He looked around them all with an expression of terrified pleading. He turned to Hermione, who averted her eyes; to Snape, who regarded him with sneering contempt and kept his wand trained firmly on him; to Ron, who looked shocked and repulsed; to Sirius; and finally to Harry.

"H-Harry." He forced his trembling lips into the approximation of a friendly smile, dropping down onto his knees, begging. "So like James, Harry. Would your father have wanted me to be killed, Harry? Would he have believed me?"

"You low, sneaking wretch," Remus snarled with wolfish ferocity. "You stinking rat. You talk to Harry about his parents when it was you - _you_, Peter! - who murdered them?"

Pettigrew's eyes filled with tears. "How could you understand?" he sobbed. "How could you know what I suffered? The Dark Lord has ways, means, he twists and persuades and threatens - I couldn't resist him. You couldn't have."

Sirius stepped towards Peter, quivering from head to foot with raw, brutal anger. Harry thought that he would, if he had his wand, kill his former friend there and then. "We all could have turned to Voldemort," he growled. "But we didn't. You weak-willed snivelling _vermin_!"

"You don't understand!"

"I understand that you sold them out to your Master! I understand that you killed them!" Sirius shook his head with disgust and hatred. He looked towards Remus. "I'm so sorry, Remus."

"Oh, I forgive you," said Lupin, in a tone of voice as if it were a matter of no importance, but a genuine smile was hovering at the corners of his mouth and there was a calmer light to his eye. Harry though that already he could see some semblance of the former man creeping into the mutilated face. Sirius seemed to see it, too, and he smiled at his friend.

Peter was crying now, low wrenching sobs that shook his entire frame. "Please!" he was sobbing. "Please!"

"Oh, do be quiet," said Snape, and he made a swishing motion at Pettigrew's hands, which were clasped together in desperate supplication. Thin ropes twined themselves around and around, and Peter struggled but they were too strong for him. He began to weep noisily, begging incoherently through his tears, and Snape rolled his eyes and muttered _silencio_. The noise stopped abruptly, and Harry watched while Pettigrew, startled, made a few more emphatic silent protests. It was a grotesque sight, and he turned away.

"What will you do now?" he asked Lupin.

Lupin smiled broadly, and closed his eyes. "It's been so long since I had the freedom to answer that question. I suppose first I shall have to go to Dumbledore, with Peter, to explain myself. I think...I think he will listen to me."

"We'll vouch for you, anyway," said Harry, determinedly. "Won't we?"

Hermione nodded, and Ron did too, though more hesitantly. To Ron, of course, Lupin might no longer be a mass murderer, but he was still a werewolf.

Snape said, "How very touching. I suggest we return to the castle with our captive, before the Dementors find us."

He was cut off by Hermione's shriek. She pointed fiercely at the place where Pettigrew had knelt, and where now lay only the thin coils of rope that Snape's spell had bound him in.

"You _idiot_!" Sirius shouted at Snape. "The silencio!"

And before Harry could move or speak, Sirius wasn't there any more: his body seemed to twist and change, like the transformation of Peter Pettigrew, but in reverse, until a big shaggy black dog had taken his place. _Padfoot_, he thought, as the dog gave a loud bark and raced out of the door, following the invisible scent trail. Snape, muttering curses, chased close behind; behind him Harry followed, not noticing whether the others followed behind and not caring about anything except that the betrayer of his parents should come to justice at last.

He chased the dim outline of Snape's billowing robes through the dusty gloom of the Shack; outside it was getting dark, and the light was poor and only got worse as they got deeper into the house, until they weren't in a house any more but a dirt tunnel, almost pitch black, and where it led Harry couldn't tell, he only kept his eyes trained on the shape of Snape in front of him, thinking that he would never have expected to be glad to see it. At the end of the tunnel Snape seemed to disappear, and for a moment Harry couldn't tell where he'd gone; it was only when he himself reached the dead end that he looked up and out into a square of branch-thatched sky: the Weeping Willow! He hoisted himself out, taking a moment to catch his breath and look around.

It was then that the first branch hit him.

Fortunately for him, it was one of the thinner and less heavy sorts, but it slashed across his face and stung like a whip-crack, and Harry staggered to the side, blind for a moment with the pain. He reached out his hand to lean against the trunk of the tree, and another stinging blow was laid across the back of his hand. At that he started back with a strangled yelp, further out where the branches could get at him more easily, and the blows rained thick and fast now. He lost his glasses early on, and stumbled about nearly blind, trying to get to beyond where he thought the branches would be able to reach but the thin branches kept twining around his ankles to trip him up and pull him back.

"Harry!" came a rough shout at last, and the stinging blows stopped suddenly. Harry lay panting, feeling every lash on his body. Lupin handed him his glasses, and when he put them on he could see a thin trail of blood across the red weals on his hands.

"Come on, Harry," Lupin ordered, but gently, trying to lift him and make him move out of the Willow's reach. "That won't hold forever. Hermione, come and help, please?"

Harry felt himself hoisted on both sides and half-walked, half-dragged a little way off.

"Oh, Harry, your _face_," Hermione gasped, and Ron let out a long, low whistle. Lupin was touching the lash-marks gently, like a Healer.

"You'll live, I think," he finished, smiling.

"Where're Sirius and Snape?" Harry demanded.

"I don't know. Still chasing Peter I - no, wait, look! There!"

Harry looked where Lupin pointed, and sure enough there was the big black shape of Sirius-the-dog, Padfoot, bearing down on a tiny scurrying form which darted this way and that to avoid him. Snape was nowhere to be seen.

"Come on," Harry urged his godfather, as the gap between dog and rat closed. "Come _on_."

But then, suddenly, the rat veered wildly to the left, too fast for the bigger dog to follow. Harry gasped in despair, but Hermione shouted, "_Crookshanks_!" and yes, the lanky marmalade tomcat was there, pouncing from the shadows with a grace and speed that Harry would never have thought he had in him. When his head came up, there was a wriggling rat clamped firmly between his jaws. The great black dog bounded to his side, barking joyfully.

"See? I _knew_ he was right all along," Hermione crowed triumphantly, slapping Ron's hurt arm.

"Talk about a time and a place, Hermione," Ron groused, wincing and cradling his arm.

Lupin let out a long sigh of relief, patting the black dog on its head as it loped over to them. "Good dog."

And suddenly there was no dog, only Sirius, sitting at Lupin's side and grinning. "Well then," he said. "Happily ever after, it looks like, doesn't it?"

"It rather does, I must ad-admi- oh, no, no, _no_."

The light was dusky, tinged red with sunlight, but it seemed to grow suddenly blacker, the temperature frosty, all the joy and relief of the moment leeched out. Harry knew what he was going to see before he saw it, but it still twisted his stomach nauseatingly. There were so many of them: seemingly hundreds of ragged black shapes gliding silently towards them. Out of the Forest they came, and from the Castle, some from the sky; from every direction. Harry thought he was going to be sick, with Lupin's soft desperate murmuring in his ear.

"_Expecto_..." Sirius was muttering, but his voice was weak and thin and the arm that clutched his wand waved feebly. "No, not now, _Expecto Pat-patro_..."

Harry heard a rasping death-rattle of a breath behind him, close to his ear, and then it was all _screaming in his ears - far off voices - screaming - screaming - flash of light - green light - no more screaming - silence - and blackness, blackness -_

_"Not my Harry! Not _my_ Harry!"_

Mother?

_"Stand aside, foolish, girl."_

_"No, I won't, I won't!"_

_"Well, then."_

_screaming, screaming - a baby's high wail - voices muttering - high cold laughter - screaming - green flash - blackness, blackness - all over now..._


	11. Chapter Ten

Title: Harry Potter and the Werewolf of Azkaban  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, settings or anything else from Harry Potter.  
Warnings: AU

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

_"Come on now, Mr Potter, wake up."_

That was the first thing he heard. He couldn't open his eyes yet, and his body felt ice-cold and far too heavy to be made of nothing but mereflesh and bone. When he tried to speak, it came out slurred and slow, nearly incoherent.

"Wwhhaaatt...?"

"That's the spirit. Come on now, up you get."

"Uuhh..." Harry forced his eyes open, the light stinging them painfully after so long in the dark.

"There's a lad." It was Professor Fell, leaning over him. "D'you know where you are?"

He didn't.

"You're in the infirmary. We got you just in time. You're a very lucky young man, Mr Potter. Can you move at all?"

"Bit," said Harry, feeling his limbs gently. They began to move, the blood flowing sluggishly back to his fingers and toes. It stung, but it was good, because at least it reassured him that he was alive.

"Here you are, then," said Professor Fell, pushing a small chunk of chocolate into his hand. "There's more where that came from. Little bits at a time, now."

As the chocolate went down, the pins-and-needles stinging began to subside, and he felt warmer and more alive. After the fourth or fifth piece he was able to feebly push himself up into a sitting position, limp against his pillow.

"Where's everyone?" he asked.

"All here. All doing well. There's some worse than others."

"Ron and Hermione? And Sirius?"

"Your godfather's still unconscious. He tried to hold the Dementors off for a long time. Madame Pomfrey is with him. Miss Granger is coming round, and Mr Weasley's just had his arm set. You eat that now, and I'll be back in a moment." Harry watched her move off along the row of beds, to Hermione, who was lying deathly pale on her bed, eyes half-shut. Across the way, Ron was propped up against his pillows, white-faced but awake at least, and further along, there was a bed with the curtains drawn all around it; he supposed that must be Sirius'.

"You okay?" Ron called, weakly.

"Been better," Harry replied, startled to hear how thin his own voice was. "You?"

"Same. At least my arm's not broken any more," Ron said, lifting it up and letting it fall back onto the sheet again. "Wish I was strong enough to lift it, mind."

Harry offered him a weak grin, which Ron returned. They were both too tired to say any more. Harry had to wonder how close they had actually come to dying in the clutches of the Dementors, though he shivered at the thought of it, and at the memory of what he had heard when he was sinking into that icy blackness.

To take his mind off things, he watched Professor Fell leaning over Hermione, bringing her around. He watched as the strength seeped slowly back into her, until she could turn enough to meet Harry's eyes and smile, weary but awake. Professor Fell stayed with her long enough to make sure she was recovering well, then came back over to Harry.

"Where's Lupin, Professor?" Harry asked, while she fumbled with more chocolate. "Is he okay?"

"Hush. I can't talk to you about that. The Headmaster and the Minister-"

"What? But he's innocent! It's true...it _is_," Harry protested. "Where's Lupin? Where's Pettigrew?"

"Mr Potter, there are other people besides you in this infirmary."

"Where is he?"

"Eat this chocolate. Do you want to keep feeling the way you do? Then eat it."

"Only when you tell me where he is!"

"Harry." It was Dumbledore. He came and sat on the edge of Harry's bed. "Thank you very much, Professor. I'll make sure Harry eats his chocolate."

Professor Fell looked unhappy, but let it go. She moved away, and Dumbledore waited until she was out of earshot until he began to speak.

"Harry -"

"Professor, he _didn't_ _do_ _it_!"

"Harry, I am a much older man than you, and I flatter myself that I am rather wiser, too-"

"But _sir_!"

Dumbledore gave Harry a reproving look through his little half-moon spectacles, and Harry let out a long defeated sigh, consenting to listen to what the Headmaster had to say.

"As I said, Harry, I flatter myself that I am rather wiser than you. After all, I have had a much longer time than you to perfect it. And, as such, I have come to learn that certain things take time."

Harry frowned, confused, and made a movement as if to interrupt again, but was silenced by a very grave look from Dumbledore.

"Remus Lupin," Dumbledore went on,"has been the target of the hatred, disgust, and fear of the wizarding world for a very long time. He has been imprisoned in Azkaban, deemed a supporter of Lord Voldemort and guilty of a terrible crime, for nearly as long as you have been alive. Do you understand, Harry, that thirteen years cannot be done away with overnight?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Does this mean that, after everything, he's going back to Azkaban?"

"He is already back in Azkaban. The Minister ordered it as soon as he was recaptured, after you were saved from the Dementors."

"What?" Harry was nearly shouting. Dumbledore made a motion for Harry to stay calm, but Harry ignored it. "You can't _do_ that, it's not _fair_, he's _innocent_!"

"Harry, Harry," Dumbledore said. "If you continue to raise your voice, Madam Pomfrey will have me removed from her Infirmary, and you will have a longer wait to hear the rest of the story."

Reluctantly, Harry subsided.

"Thank you. Now, as I said, Remus Lupin is back in Azkaban. But it is not forever. You may be interested to know that the Minister and I, armed with Veritaserum and Aurors experienced in extracting the truth from Death Eaters, have been talking with our friend Mr Pettigrew, who was delivered into my office by that wonderful creature, Crookshanks. As it happens, we have enough evidence to re-open Remus' case, and there will be a very large, very public, very fair trial, and I am very confident that Remus Lupin will be a free man within a few months." Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling, at Harry's dumbfounded expression. "Chocolate?" he said, blithely.

"That's," said Harry, searching for a suitable adjective, and failing. "A few months is still a long time, though, isn't it?"

"I imagine that in comparison to thirteen years," said Dumbledore, "a month or so is something of a heartbeat."

Harry sank back in relief against his pillows. Dumbledore offered him a smile and a reminder to keep eating the prescribed chocolate, and began to stand up.

"Professor," Harry said. "How did you know where to find us?"

"A little bird told Professor Fell," said Dumbledore. "A little Pureblood Slytherin bird, whose name I've quite forgotten."

"_Malfoy_?" cried Harry, incredulous. "How did he know that?"

"However the information was gleaned, our little bird saved your life tonight, Harry, and that's something that should not be taken lightly."

"_Malfoy_," Harry snarled, having barely heard Dumbledore's warning. "I'll bet he knew, I bet he knew all along that Pettigrew was the one who did it, I bet..." Dumbledore sighed; childhood rivalries and enmities were not overcome so easily, he supposed, and thought of Professor Snape and Sirius Black.

"Goodnight, Harry," he said. Harry nodded a weak goodbye, waited until Dumbledore had left, and then let himself go limp against his pillows, eyes slipping shut and then he was sinking down into warm, welcome sleep.

Harry had to spend most of the next day in bed too, but by the evening Madam Pomfrey and Professor Fell relented, and he, Hermione and Ron were allowed back to Gryffindor Tower. Sirius railed against his confinement but Madam Pomfrey was unshakeable, and he had to reconcile himself to another night of sleeping potions and medicinal chocolate.

"I'll never look at another piece of blasted chocolate once I'm out of here," he said, as Harry went to bid him goodnight. "She's spoiled me for life."

"It'll teach you to keep out of trouble," Madam Pomfrey shot back. "Thirty years old and no better than when he was a boy. Oh, I remember young Sirius Black, never moved but he was up here with hair growing out of goodness-knows-where or with a snout for a nose or a great shaggy tail on his- well," she sniffed, "you catch my drift."

"I put spice into your life," Sirius teased. "You'd have been lost without me."

"I'd have had fewer grey hairs without you."

"But you look so dignified with a few silver strands," said Sirius, flashing his most charming of smiles. Madam Pomfrey bustled off, grumbling, cheeks ever-so-slightly flushed. "She adores me, really," he whispered to Harry, conspiratorially.

"Did Dumbledore tell you about Lupin?" Harry asked.

"Hmm. Good news for poor old Remus. It'd be even better if they got their acts together and just let him out now. Damned beaurocracy."

"Sirius," Harry said. "Lupin is Moony, isn't he?"

Sirius looked at Harry strangely. "Where did you hear that?"

"Fred and George gave me a map - the Marauder's Map - by Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. Lupin was Moony, and I think Peter was Wormtail, and you were Padfoot, and-"

"Your dad was Prongs."

"Yeah. Lupin sent me a picture, and it had those names on the back. I worked out Moony, because of the werewolf thing, but I couldn't work out the others."

"Hang on, reverse a bit, when did Remus send you this picture?"

"At Christmas. He wrote to me before then, too, and I met him once in Hogsmeade, but can we sort of forget about that and get back to you being a dog?"

"Letters! Pictures! _Meetings_! If this whole thing had worked out a bit differently I'd be wringing your sneaky little neck, providing someone else hadn't snapped it for me."

"How can you turn into a dog?" Harry asked, valiantly attempting to change the subject.

Sirius sighed, then chuckled. "Fine, fine, we'll forget about it. I can turn into a dog becuase I'm an unregistered Animagus. So's Peter, and so was your dad. We did it for Remus, to keep him company on the full moon."

"And my dad-?"

"He was a stag. Hence, Prongs. We all thought it was a great laugh, to go running about the grounds with a werewolf in tow." Sirius shook his head. "How we never got caught I'll never know. We were stupid, and unbelievably lucky. Closest we ever got to disaster was Snape."

"What?"

"Snape found out that Remus was a werewolf. He went down to the Willow, nearly got his head bit off. It was only your dad stopped him."

"Snape knew Remus was a werewolf?"

"Yeah, he did. Dumbledore swore him to secrecy."

Harry was thoughtful for a moment. "Sirius, earlier in the year he made me help him brew this potion. 'Wolfsbane', it was called. Does that mean anything to you?"

"It's an experimental potion, designed to let werewolves keep their minds when they change." He frowned."That's interesting, mind. Maybe they were sending it over to Azkaban. A werewolf at the full moon is something not even the Dementors want to handle. No mind, no human emotions for them to feed off. They wouldn't be able to control it at all."

Harry said nothing, but the seed of an idea budded in his mind, that he carried around with him until he would have the chance to ask Lupin himself.

The end of term was drawing near. Harry faced it with mingled regret and relief. The year certainly had been...eventful.

One thing that had not changed, even despite what Dumbledore had told him, was the hatred between Harry and Draco Malfoy. Draco continued to sneer at Harry, and never missed an opportunity to jeer and insult. To Harry, Draco was the sneaking rat who had known Pettigrew was an agent of Voldemort, who had known that it was _he_ who had betrayed Harry's parents, and had never done anything about it. He'd saved Harry's life, but how? Hermione had it on good authority from a Slytherin in her Ancient Runes class that Draco had told Professor Fell that _Lupin_ was on the grounds, not Pettigrew. So he'd still been willing to send an innocent man to prison for the rest of his life.

Only one puzzle remained: who had told McGonagall where to find Harry and Lupin at that final, fateful meeting in Hogsmeade?

"I did it," said Hermione, tearful and repentant one night in the empty Gryffindor common room. "Harry, we didn't know he was innocent, we couldn't have known."

"I was in on it," said Ron, glancing anxiously between Hermione and Harry. "But as it turned out, it was for the best, wasn't it? Eh, Harry?"

Harry managed to look angry and unforgiving for roughly ten seconds before relenting. Ron was right, after all, it _had_ been for the best, and they'd only done it out of concern, anyway. He forgave them gladly, and the last few days of term passed in a kind of sunny, happy haze. Ron had even conceded that perhaps Crookshanks might have been right, and wasn't such a bad sort after all.

-

At last, the day came when they stood amid the bustling crowd on Platform 9¾.

"Oh, Harry!" Molly Weasley enclosed him in a suffocating hug as she caught sight of him, standing off to one side of the station, surrounded by Weasleys. "I'm so glad you're alright!"

"You know, Mum, I was kidnapped by a werewolf too," said Ron, teasing. "I even broke my arm."

"We were abducted by aliens," said Fred.

"It was awful," said George.

"Probes and things."

"We'll never be the same again."

"Traumatised." The twins nodded together, solemnly. Mrs Weasley swatted them sharply, but she was laughing, too, and hugged all her children tightly.

"You've got everything, right?" she said, counting children and suitcases. "Well, come on then. Harry, dear, do come and stay with us over the holidays, won't you? We'll sort something out with the Dursleys for you."

"Oh, I don't think there'll be any need of that, Molly," came a voice from close by. Harry looked - it was Sirius, grinning. "Since Harry's going to be spending the summer with me."

Harry felt as though someone had poured molten sunlight straight into his stomach, roughly the way he had felt when Hagrid had kicked open the door of the miserable little hut by the sea, and told him he was a wizard.

"Really?" he said. "I mean - _really_?"

"Absolutely." Sirius looked like he was positively twitching with excitement, nearly quivering like a - Harry nearly laughed - like a dog wagging its tail and wriggling for joy.

"This," Harry declared, "is going to be the best summer _ever_!"

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, you can breathe a sigh of relief because it's all over! This is the end, my friends! I hope it doesn't disappoint. Sorry for not keeping my word and getting it finished sooner but, you know, Christmas and exams and things. RL sucks. 

Anyway, thank you all for your lovely comments. I never expected even a fraction of the feedback I received for this story, which began as the product of a bored afternoon's attempts at amusement, and which I never expected anyone would read, let alone _enjoy_! Thank you very much!

(I couldn't resist a little twinking of old Dumbledore's eye, when he talks to Harry in the Infirmary. Call it a tribute to JKR!)


End file.
